


To Kill a Princess

by LuxuriousRose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Assassins & Hitmen, Drama, F/M, Fairy Tale Logic, Mature Sexual Content, Princess - Freeform, Romance, freeform seat of the pants story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 98,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxuriousRose/pseuds/LuxuriousRose
Summary: Updates Fridays (EST)Stuck in an arrangement she cannot bear, Princess Cordelia decides she's going to take charge of her own destiny. All was going according to plan until her precious belongings were stolen by a handsome, yet incorrigible thief. When she discovers the thief's true purpose for arriving in her kingdom, she becomes ill with fright.Cordelia has to make a choice—make nice with the man and agree to his demands, or, chance her true identity becoming known.





	1. Chapter 1

Princess Cordelia of Wellspring stomps from her mother’s throne room in a huff, leaving the audience. How  _dare_  she propose a marriage she herself didn’t approve of?! The long winding halls of the palace were no trouble for the blonde to traverse through, this wasn’t her first over-the-top exit from her mother’s tyranny. Her chambers were fast approaching—thank the heavens. It was her one place that she could retreat to without being harassed by her parents, or, her servants.

It would be chaos if her mother went through with this retched engagement. Lifting her luxurious midnight skirts, Cordelia haughtily steps up the stairwell to her sleeping quarters, enraged. She shuts the tall carved door with all her might as it makes a mighty clang across the palace halls. The force sways a vase on a nearby table. With one dramatic huff, she throws herself onto her canopy mattress. Her long braid miraculously stays in place, framed around the top of her head in an elegant manner. The loose curls that once framed her face were now buried in a pillow. Enraged tears flow down from her cheeks as she lifts her head. Her teeth grit together when she curses her own mother. Even though it felt satisfying at the moment, the Princess knew she couldn’t stay sulking in her silken laced sheets for long. She walks over to the window and stares down below at the houses spanning down below. How lucky they were to live lives of their own, without their mother’s domineering influence—exploiting her own daughter's youth and virtuousness for the kingdom’s benefit. They did  _not_  need an alliance with the  _St. Antilla Islands_. They were a nation of free and loving people, but who was to say its King was the same? The language was fun to speak, but that was a stretch. She would not be the queen of some other land just to speak their tongue.

Back to her incorrigible, awful husband to be. She had feared the worst; what is this man was  _old?_  What if he was mean? Things that her mother likely never considered when she set up the arrangement. Her mother had ensured that Cordelia was dolled up for their meeting, her in her long twisted braids and her midnight dress that shimmered when the light hit it right. Despite being twice as old as she was, King Ryne was rather attractive. His clean-shaven face and greying hair became him. But there was an angle to his face that tipped Cordelia off. He didn’t seem like a modern man by any stretch. She had the worse fears crawl through her head. God, what If he was …rough with her in the bedchambers? What if he wanted a large brood—no, that was enough.

Ugh.

Cordelia curls her fingers into tight fists. She would not stand for such foolishness. She would not stay in the palace where she was nothing but a prisoner.

Cordelia raids her jewel-encrusted box and grabs the drawer full of priceless family heirlooms. If her parents would treat her like currency, then they were mistaken. On a rough impulse, she throws the items, and a pouch of gold shillings into an embroidered satchel. She would leave these castle walls. This was the last time she would take direction—from anyone!  

Now, if the guards took their break, she'll be able to sneak into one of the hidden hallways. 

She waits until midnight hits before plotting her escape. She slips into a pale blue dress, forgoing the petticoat. Her satin day dress would have to do—it made her look like a noblewoman at best. Donning her navy blue cloak, she slings it around her shoulders and waits for the time she  _knows_  the guards will be distracted. She opts to take the flat shoes to prevent making noise on the cobblestone. It wasn’t unusual that the Princess took an evening walk, but she always had been chaperoned. No one in their right mind would allow Cordelia to escape. Taking one last look at her surroundings, she takes a deep breath. Not one ounce of her being would miss this place.

Cordelia opens her door carefully, clutching her satchel carefully to prevent noise. She tucks it under her arm as she sneaks along the dark palace corridor, the dim candlelight of the halls catching on her velvet blue cloak. One guard was patrolling the halls, but he didn’t seem too attentive, taking his time admiring the landscape. Cordelia holds her breath as she lines her backside against one of the hall pillars. The clank in his armour gives away that he had changed his activity, deciding to continue with his watchful duties. She shimmies around the pillar as he makes the round, waiting until the soft clank fades from earshot. Thankfully, it doesn’t take much time. Cordelia proceeds along her way to the east wing, where a ladder would bring her to the storage area. If she were lucky, there might be a window she could crawl out of.

Swiftly making it down the ladder, Cordelia is greeted with hay bails and storage crates lining the walls. Moonlight reflects along the sides of the crates—she notices an open window alongside the tower of boxes. She pulls up her skirts while tying the satchel to her waist, positioning her feet alongside the angles she could step on. She makes it to the window—it’s higher than she anticipated. Well, as fearful as she was, there was no turning back now. With one leap of faith, she jumps from the window, bracing herself for impact. The grass below didn’t shield much of the impact, hurting her knees as she stumbled to the ground, but it could have been a lot worse. She sneaks alongside the shrubbery and into the wooded pathway—she saw servants traverse this path often when she was in the courtyard. Hopefully, she could make it through the thick brass gate. By a miracle, it was just  _left_  open. Wow, if her parents found out about this …they’d have this guard’s head! A pang of regret hits her when she thinks of her kind-hearted father. He doted on her ever since she was a small child—and to leave without even saying goodbye hurt her a little. But, he didn’t stop her tyrannical mother from preventing her misery. It would be a mistake that the King and Queen would have to live with.

Cordelia musters the courage to step through the gate. Once she passes this threshold, she would be free.

And did she ever feel it when she passed through the iron gate door.

Looking at the town below, she saw the bright lights of the nightlife. It dazzled her to see it from this view; it looked like there was a celebration going on—how exciting! Cordelia braces herself as she edges alongside the steep hill—she couldn’t tumble down and allow the contents of her satchel to spill open. If she;'s to live like a pauper, she would need a place to stay for the night.

Cordelia arrives at the Seascape Inn and Tavern, which from the outside looked like a respectable place. It hails near the town square where most of the crowds were cheering and dancing—excellent—she can slip past the crowds without suspicion. She opens the door; instantly holding her nose at the smell of sweat and …some alcoholic beverage she couldn’t identify. It was a rowdy place, but she was hungry. Perhaps she could get a nice plate of finger foods and a glass of her favourite drink.

“Excuse me.” She walks up to the counter, nerves settle in as she debates her course of action. Was she doing this correctly? It was hard to guess. The barmaid laced in a tight corset and green skirt lifts her head, examining her briefly.

“What may I get thee?”

“A sprinkle of your finest Rose Wine.” She lifts a finger. “And your finest wrapped nut and cheese gougères.”

The barmaid gives her a wicked look as a laugh soon follows. “We ‘aint noble folk you know. Ye’ have to settle for something less intrusive, _P_ _rincess_.”

Cordelia freezes, feeling her throat clam up. Impossible! How did this simple woman see her through her disguise!?

“I-I’m  _not_  a princess!” She says in her sternest tone.

“Well o’ course you ain’t, gel. She be a right shrew, that bitch of a whore.”

 _What?_  Cordelia blinks.

“Princess Cordelia, good  _riddance_  she’s being carted to St. Antilla. She’s drained more of our coffers than her mother before her. That function they threw for her nineteenth birthday had the whole town halted for business—all for some ungrateful spat. Marrying that king will be the best thing she’s ever done for Wellspring.”

Cordelia recalls being displeased sure, but that was because of the arrangement that her thoughtless mother threw her into. That wasn’t her fault! Despite her temper boiling to unfathomable levels, she had to remain calm. If these people found out who she truly was, she might be burned at the stake.  

“How about I take one of your finest drinks instead?” She would rather not discuss her own clear  _ungratefulness_  with the barmaid.

“Spring’s Ale ye reckon.” She cleans out a mug with a well-used rag. Cordelia flinches as she carelessly pours the ale into the glass. “Now what brings a noble lady like you to this ‘ye tavern?”

“A n-noblewoman? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Now, don’t be foolin’ me  _gel_. Most your age are on their second babe by now—and don’t think I didn’t notice your doll-like features under that big old ‘ood of yours. Speaks of a woman who wishes to save ‘erself for a special wealthy man, I reckon.” She winks, as she hands the mug to Cordelia. Well, that was a  _crude_  way of putting it.

“You don’t say?” Cordelia frowns.

“Just be careful that the men ‘round here don’t notice your beauty, or, I cannot promise you’ll remain virtuous for long.” Her laugh signifies it to be a joke, but… something tells Cordelia that this woman was attempting to spare her from unwanted attention.  

Cordelia sips her drink softly— _mmm_ —it wasn’t bad. Nerves creep in when she realizes that she’s not in her element. As a result, she drinks more, downing the ale at quite a speed. She slams the ale down on the table, noticing that they mostly ignored her. Right. She unties the satchel from her waist and leans it by her feet—the weight slowly bothering her waist. She takes a further sip of the spring ale until her mug is empty.

“May you offer me lodgings for the night?” She asks, less shy than she had been before. She forgets about her hunger as it’s washed away by the pleasant sensation she feels in her temples.

“Are ye sure it’s fit for someone of your nature?”

“A bed is a bed.” She says, less concerned with comfort as she reaches for her satchel—confused when she sees that it’s no longer by her feet. H-How?! Cordelia whips her head around. To her surprise (and anger), she sees a possible suspect weave around the exit—a mop of dark hair being the only detail she notices. She hops off her seat, trailing the man as best she can in her condition.  

Cordelia accidentally trips over a chair leg, catching herself on the table. No way would this man get away with his ghastly crime, she needed those valuables! Cordelia storms after him, leaving the tavern in haste. She calls out to him in her native tongue, but instead of the man quickening his pace, he stops and turns to face her. She followed him to the wooded path lining the kingdom gates. The moonlight gently outlines his frame, revealing just how  _tall_  he is. For a thief, he wasn't dressed too poorly, but she couldn't ignore the definition of his arms. God, in what world could she take him on? Especially in her tipsy state.

“Give me back my satchel y-you hooligan!” She demands, but his handsome face frowns in confusion.  _Hell’s bells,_  she mutters to herself. Now wasn’t the time to be scoping out the man. She waves her finger in the air. “You will heavily regret your actions!”

He gives her a once-over, lowering her cloak’s hood with a single finger. Flustered, she takes a step back. Her eyes narrow at him; unimpressed with his actions. His unusual violet eyes give off a twinkle as he examines her.

<That pretty mouth of yours would be much more useful elsewhere.> He raises an amused brow as he takes in her features.

 _ <Excuse me?!> _ The thief is taken aback as his lips part, the playful grin washed away from his face entirely. <I don’t know what that means, but my mouth is just fine where it is!>

<Y-you speak Antillan?> The thief stutters. 

<I do.> She crosses her arms. <After all, I’m being shipped off—I mean!> She covers her mouth.

His brow raises in confusion as he combs his dark hair away from his face.

<Don’t give me that stupid look. Hand me back my things!>

<Not so fast...> His frown replaces his surprise. <Don’t forget you’re in no place to negotiate.>

<I’ll have you know I take no directions from any low-life—>

He grabs her wrist as soon as she raises it, leaning her against the stone fence. <A little woman won’t do well to take on a man of my size.> His voice growls. <Now, if you would close that mouth of yours, I could explain what I want.>

She wasn’t sure if it was the ale clouding her judgement, or, if that swirl of delight she felt in her gut was showing her  _attraction_  to this man. His proximity was  _tantalizingly_ delicious—no! He had her things, and she needed to get them back. This was  _no_  time for poorly timed flights of fancy! He stole her items for the love of god!

<You can’t order me around.> It’s her turn to growl. 

He keeps the position, eying her intently. <I can smell alcohol on your breath.>

<Don’t change the subject!> She snaps. <Give me back my things, or I’ll report you to the authorities!>

 _ <Oh, no no no. I can’t have you do a thing like that.> _  His cool tone sends brief chills down her spine. <If you won't behave, I will take matters into my own hands.> He uses his legs as a bridge to prevent her from escaping, binding both her delicate wrists with his hands. He forcefully turns her around, using the rope around his waist to constrict her wrists behind her back. <I’ll make it a little easier for you. You comply to my demands, and you  _may_  survive. If not, well… I can’t promise that my  _friends_  will be so kind as to spare you.>

Oh  _god._  Cordelia’s heart pounds against her chest—in pure unadulterated panic as he scoops her up with one arm, planting her on his shoulder. She fumes when he gives her a sharp pat on the rear. She would have screamed, but… she didn’t want to find out what kind of  _fun_  his friends had in mind… She only knew one thing.

This ruffian was abducting her!


	2. Chapter 2

_God damn it all,_ she curses to herself.

The one night she escapes, and she gets captured by this… brute! She swears if she was in her right mind, she would march this thief back home and demand the palace guards arrest him. That fantasy of hers would get her through this travesty. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to escape without getting noticed…

Unless he traverses through a wooden path that _nobody_ would take. Rumours of monsters and—giant spiders—lied beyond the branches. They terrified Cordelia. 

<You are _not_ going through that path. > She scolds him. <There are _giant spiders_ in there! >

<God, keep your voice down and there won’t be.> He grumbles. <How on earth would there be giant spiders in a gated kingdom?>

<Spiders can _climb_. > She huffs.   

He ignores her as he proceeds along the dirt path.

She raises her voice. <You’re not getting out of here unless we go through the gate—when they’ll catch your sorry behind.> He doesn’t respond. Whether it’s because of his inattention, or that he ignored her, was only her guess. _Damn him._

Cordelia stiffens when he lifts her off of his shoulder, her ankles feel wobbly as she positions herself upward. To her surprise, a crack in the wall showcases the harbourfront and ocean ahead. Not big enough for giant spiders to travel through, only creatures with two feet ...such as this thief who abducted her. 

<What? I thought our kingdom was impenetrable?> She speaks with surprise. <Why on earth would anyone leave a crack in the wall?>

<Does it matter?> He says in impatience. <Just step through and we’ll be on our way.> His grip tightens on her wrist as he pulls her through the opening.

<Ow!> She says in detest. <Don’t pull me so hard!>

<I didn’t. Don’t be dramatic.> He huffs.

<You _did_. > There was no need to be so rough with her, but she leaves the complaint there. She keeps to her plan—she wouldn’t upset him to where he might get aggressive, or _worse_. Staying alive was the most important thing.  

He pulls her to the harbourfront, away from the kingdom that Cordelia was raised in. The soft splashes of the waves trickle in her ears, bringing a sense of solace to the night. It was quiet for the most part—but the townsfolk celebrating  _her departure_ could be heard beyond the castle gates. Even if she screamed, it’s not like anyone would hear her—or care. She humphs—maybe she _should_ get on that dinky little boat of his.

<Get on.> He crosses his arms, lowering his presumed violet gaze. She throws her hood over her head as she stares at his miniature vessel. He lowers his voice as his hand gropes her rear, pushing her towards the edge of the dock. The absolute _coward_ of a man, how dare he take advantage of her while in her current state! She ignores the swirl of delight in her gut—the contact was highly inappropriate, but what could she expect of an ill-mannered thief? Cordelia had to remind herself—she had _the drink_ , but she had _standards_. No simple touch would sully her thoughts.

<Didn’t you see I was more than willing to abide by your request? You didn’t have to add that crude action.>

<I was merely helping you along.> He shrugs. <The sooner you get in, the sooner we can make a move on.>

<Now why are you in such a hurry?> The drink encourages her to speak her thoughts. <Afraid that you’ll get caught after all?>

<What do I have to be afraid of?> She can hear his grin. <I’m not the one bound by my wrists.>

<You’ll have to do more than tie me up to intimidate me.> She regrets her words as soon as she speaks them. God, what a thing to say to a thief—that was _asking_ for trouble. Speaking her mind might have gotten her _somewhere_ with her family, even if seldom, but at least her life wasn’t potentially at risk.

She hears a heavy long drawn out sigh before he scoops her up, propelling them both onto the boat. It was a dangerous, calculated step but he managed to execute it perfectly. She breathes a sigh of relief when he gains control of the boat's movements, positioning his feet to prevent the vessel from tipping.

He leans her down before untying the rope. With an ore, he pushes himself from the dock, sitting on a wooden plank before he starts rowing. Cordelia sits on the other plank, pouting as she watches her kingdom fade from the distance.

<You can untie me now.> She mutters to the thief. <Just so you know, I can’t swim, so there’s no reason you should keep me bound like a hog.>

<And have you do something like dump out all your belongings? I don’t think so.> He makes steady breaths as he pushes the boat further out to sea.

<Where are you taking me?>

<Back to headquarters. My comrades will want to scope you out—see if you’re appropriate for the job.>

<What _job_? _>_ Cordelia asks. She didn’t care exactly, but she didn’t want to be a victim to his whims. Despite what she thought of him, she had to play it safe.

<I’m under orders to locate the _p rincess of your lands_. _>_

Cordelia pales instantly. A _princess_ referred to one person— _her_. She braces herself for her next question.  <Why is that?>

<I won’t hold you in suspense.> He lowers his voice. <I was instructed to find the princess and capture her. You see, she’s supposed to be married to _King Ryne_ , but her presence in our already poor kingdom won’t bode well for us. The King and Queen of Wellspring are tyrants and want our armies to take over more lands with that unbridled greed of theirs. We can’t go through another famine—and our King is too foolish to see past her _beauty_ , or, so my employer says. It’s astounding what a pretty face can do to a man.>

<Once captured, what are you planning to do with her?>

<Kill her.> The way he casually throws his words means it’s not something that phases him. This means he’s a killer—an assassin. Oh god, she was on a dinky little boat with a man who would try to kill her—once he found out who she truly was. She… _she couldn’t have heard him correctly_.

_< You want to kill the princess?>_

<From what I’ve heard, she wasn’t well liked by her subjects. And I’m sure you don’t mind either, I mean what has she done for you?>

God, she could feel the contents of her stomach curl. <And how am I supposed to help you kill a princess?!> She says in confusion, doing her best to prevent herself from vomiting.

<You speak both Weltish and Antillan.> He smiles. <You could ask about the princess yourself, and gain information without suspicion. Help me capture the princess, and I will return your things, and your freedom.>

<My what?!> She says in rage, briefly forgetting her dire circumstance. <You can’t return something you don't own!> 

<You’re my captive.> His suspicious grin returns. <And as my captive, I get the upper hand. I promise I’ll treat you well, if you behave yourself. If you don’t, I can’t promise you a damn thing.> He continues to row, the strokes through the ocean water splash the bottom of the vessel. Cordelia frowns, feeling the friction of the rope against her wrists.

<My belonging are _not_ for you to sell! > She says with a ferocious temper. <A man like you would never have the luxury to own such treasures.>

<Yet, here you are _in my possession._ Now unless you want to sink to your death, I advise you hush that damn mouth of yours. > He narrows his brows, untying the boat from the tall wooden post. <From what the moon has shown me, you seem to have a pretty face under that hood.>

<What?!> She scoffs.

<Maybe I should keep you for myself.> She sees his grin grow into a mischievous one. Damn him and his cursed words. He might have had a handsome face for a thief, but that was not cause for his slander. 

<You wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like me.> She challenges him. <A woman of class requires a courtship I am positive you couldn’t keep up with.>

He stops rowing as he turns to her in question. <What I would _do_ with you? Oh, that’s easy.> 

<You'll do well to get those nasty thoughts from your head!> She stands up, shifting the boat’s weight off kilter.  

<Are you bleedin’ out of your mind?! Sit down right now—I swear, you’ll drown us both!>

<Then apologise for your rudeness, or I’ll throw myself overboard, _along_ with the items you so wish to own! > Cordelia isn’t sure if she’ll subjugate herself to death, but she knows it’ll be better than dealing with _whatever_ this man was concocting within her.  <I _will_ tip us. >

<Sit down!> He orders.

Her steel blue eyes flash in amusement.

<Now the tables have turned.> She smiles, knowing she has the upper hand. 

 

The thief stands up, making quick work of his situation. He scoops Cordelia from her stance, sitting her rear onto the plank. Cordelia moans in disapproval.

<No more interfering—we’ll be there shortly.> He scolds.

<We’ll see about that.> She narrows her eyes. Her satisfaction doesn’t last for long—a sudden motion throws Cordelia off balance, the back of her head smashes against the stern’s ledge. Within moments, everything fades to black.

 

Cordelia wakes up, her feet aren't touching the ground—she's airborne. Quickly realizing that she's not alone, she gasps, feeling the warmth of her captor's arms. He looks down for a moment—a flash of concern hits before he reverts to a scowl.

<You’re heavy.> He mutters under his breath. <Are you well enough to walk?>

<You’re weak.> She mutters back. <I’m as light as a feather.> The back of her head feels tender—reminding her to ask, <What happened?>

<You hit your head...> His frown remains. <Who told you that you're feather, your  _fiancé? >_

<How did you know about my fiancé?!> She gasps.

<They always promise you rich types to someone else—I swear you treat each other like cattle.> He shakes his head. <I knew you were no different.>

She would sock him in the face if her wrists weren’t still bound together. <We are not— _I am not_ _cattle! >_

<You must have done him some real favours.>

Cordelia sharply inhales, her temper bubbling to the surface. <I did _nothing_ of the sort! >

<A waste—you nobles don't understand fun.> Cordelia can’t see his face, but she hears the amusement of his tone. <Besides, we’ll be at our location soon.>

<And where might that be?> Cordelia gets a whiff of the stench before a small, grizzly looking village befalls her view. <God, you live in these slums?>

<No, but we need to pass through here to get to our spot. If you're going to be rude, I’ll introduce you to the locals, who I’m sure would _love_ to hear how judgemental you are.> He sneers. <If they don’t cut you open with a blade first.>

<I’ll have you know that I—>

<Keep your voice down.> He speaks in a rushed whisper. <I'm not kidding.> 

 _Ooh,_ if he knew exactly what he was getting into… he’d be so dead right now. The bastard wouldn’t know what hit him. 

It takes them a couple of minutes passing through the empty, smelly town. Outside the district, a cabin lives between the trees. It doesn’t look _too_ shabby—the roof and siding are intact. They stop; he lets her down without warning. Cordelia falls on her knees, unable to keep her balance—her head is _pounding._

<I suppose it _was_ too soon to let you walk on your own. > He ponders out loud. As he helps her up, he informs her, <You took a mighty blow to the head.>

<I wonder whose fault that was?> She mocks him.

<Yours. I wasn’t the one who foolishly distracted me from my path. I hit a rock because of you.> He unlocks the door, ushering her inside.

Cordelia wrinkles her nose at the scent—it’s musty. She can’t see the surroundings until the thief lights the lantern hanging on the wall. It doesn’t have much to it—a table, two chairs, a fire pit and a makeshift hay mattress.

<This place is cold and damp.> She mutters, refusing to sit. The thief locks the door behind her and slips the key in his pocket.

<It’s where we’re staying until the morning.> He frowns, looking around the place. <Don’t get your britches in a twist, we won’t be here for long.>

<I am _not_ staying here. > She demands, stomping her foot. <You release me this instant!>

<No. I need you, _remember? > _He slips off his jacket, revealing his… gloriously toned arms. Cordelia turns away in a huff; it was the drink that was lowering her inhibitions. If she was sober, she wouldn’t have been so taken with his appearance.

<You get the bed, I’ll sleep here.> He pats the dingy mattress. <I won't try anything—you have my word.>

Cordelia refuses to comply. <I am _not_ sleeping on that thing. If you believe I’d sleep on hay like some dirty farmer, you have another thing coming. >

<Suit yourself.> He sits on the hay mattress and undoes the ties on his shirt. Cordelia is drawn to the flickers of the lantern, highlighting his strong features. His facial scruff is well trimmed, lining his jaw. His chest is divinely sculpted; It’s impossible to look away. 

<Oh, are you going to watch me change?> He raises a playful brow when she doesn’t respond. <Silent, I see. I feared that it was an impossibility.>

<Big words for a peasant.> She wryly laughs.

His lip curls. <I tried to be a gentleman, but if you’re going to act like a bitch, I'll treat you like one.>  

<Excuse _me?! > _That’s it. She’s had it with his rudeness. < _You_ are in the wrong here. I am _not_ at fault for you _kidnapping_ me! >

The cabin is silent. The thief turns over to show that he’s done speaking. She sits on the wooden chair, leaning on the table for comfort—as much as one could with bound arms. She would _not_ sleep on the floor.

Cordelia considers her options—If she revealed who she was, he could kill her in an instant—there would be nothing stopping him from doing so. She buries her head into her arms. Tears flow from her eyes, her demeanour crumbles. She doesn’t care if he hears her cry—he deserves all the disruption she can cause. She’s sore, her head hurts, and she’s overtired.

Cordelia would remain this way for five solid minutes before she feels a tug on her shoulder.

<Cut it out, will you?>

<No.> Her throat catches on her demand as she jets away from him. <I will _not_ stop. >

<For hell’s sake…> He curses under his breath. <If you want the bed, take it. I’ll do anything to stop hearing your whimpering.>

She remains silent, sharply turning from his view.

<You don’t have to give me the silent treatment.> She hears a rip, soon feeling her sore, yet free wrists free to move at her leisure. Her instinct was to thank him, but she wouldn’t dare. He was the one who tied her up. <There, now you can have a proper sleep.>

Cordelia doubted that was possible, but at least she was free to move her arms. 

She glances over at the thief as he situates himself down on the mound of sheets covering the floor. How he can sleep on the dirty ground is beyond her. Ten minutes of pondering to herself, and she hears his soft, sleeping breaths—she couldn't believe her ears. Well, nice to know he’s comfortable. She rolls her eyes, her gaze soon hovers on the open flame of the lantern. Her stomach was churning… she _had_ to find the key and escape. She’d wait ten minutes to ensure he’d fallen into the land of slumber. Then, she’d plot her escape. She might have looked like a frail princess, but she had the constitution and stubbornness to prove otherwise.  

 

Cordelia awakes in a blissfully unaware state, expecting to see familiar surroundings adorn her gaze. Except, the sun was shining in a strange direction—and—oh _god_. She recalls everything that had taken place the night before.

She forgot to escape! 

Her eyes nervously scan her surroundings—she’s afraid to make a sound. Her eyes grow wide as she notices a man—the thief that unceremoniously threw her over his shoulder—was next to her, her eyes latch onto his exposed definition. Her eyes trail downwards as she realizes …oh m-my.

_For the love of all things holy._

This was _not_ happening.

Who on heaven’s earth would sleep with no garments on?!

Cordelia carefully steps out of bed, attempting to ignore the bare man on the floor. To her credit, she had never seen a man this before.. No man was allowed to be near her unless she had a chaperone—except for her father. Her thoughts visit him momentarily, feeling a pang of guilt when he would inevitably discover her empty bedchambers. It would worry him sick. 

For heaven’s sake, enough sentimentality. She has to escape while he’s still asleep. Hopefully, she could make a quick escape, and not alert the captor of her departure. Quickly, Cordelia gathers her courage and searches for the key. If she remembers properly, she saw him slip the key into his pocket. But that means she’d have to… stick her hand in the dirty pile of clothes, _right next to him._ She shudders as she feels the rough fabric against her soft hand. She does her best to hold a disgusted whimper when she fishes for the key. The cold smoothness of iron tickles the tips of her fingers— _YES_ —she located the key!

Cordelia fails to withhold a gasp when the man stirs from his sleep—his soft groans momentarily please her ears. Her face flushes when his bare arm brushes against her hand. Cordelia snaps her eyes shut, in fear that divine intervention will occur and she’ll teleport from her spot. She clutches her skirt, her eyes squint shut.

<Now, what do you think you’re doing?>

 _“Ah!”_ She screams in her native tongue.

She hears the thief stir in his covers, taking a deep breath as he stretches. The temptation to open her eyes was strong, but she remains in her stance, realizing her arm was still deep within the fabric of his clothes. If he had a temper, he might just off her now for her insolence.

Does she dare look at him?

Her stomach drops when she does. His irises appeared brighter because of the morning light.

<No need to look so pained, it’s only I.> He chuckles.

She lowers her head in defeat, his exposed sun-kissed hip, right in her line of sight. She’s tempted to let out another squeal when she hides her blushing face with her free hand.

<Cover up for goodness’ sake!>

He raises a brow. <I have trousers on. I don’t see the problem.> He sounds mildly disappointed. <Especially when I _know_ you’ve been eyeballing me. > Gently, his warm hand touches her dainty wrist, removing it from the pile of clothing.

<I was not.> She huffs.

<You’re staring at me like I’m to be served off your silver platter. What would your fiancé think …unless, that was a _lie? > _His brow perks up. <Was that a ruse to scare me off?>

<It was _no_ ruse. > She sharply turns from him, loosening her braid from her skull. <I told you before, there _is_ a man. > This thief’s _king_ to be exact.

<Hmm.> He hums as he moves closer, testing her boundaries. <You know, you have quite a soft face, now that I have a proper look at you.>

<Don’t you _dare_ get any ideas. > She points a finger at him. <I will have your hands chopped off.>

<By who’s authority?> He grins. <Your fiancé’s?>

<Yes!> She bolsters up the courage, but her eyes draw to his chest once more. What has gotten into her?!

He leans in, as Cordelia’s heart pounds wildly; both from fear and intrigue. She’s never been this close to a man before—especially without supervision. His violet eyes stare down at her. <How about this… For a kiss, I give you one item of your things.> He smirks. <Remember, I  _untied_ you. >

<I-I will _not!_ > She backs up, her cheeks red from embarrassment. She had never kissed a man in her life—she would _not_ have her first kiss from this vile man—even if his presence was making her think all kinds of crazy, nonsensical things.

<Or your fiancé will have my head, rather?> He sighs, rolling his eyes. <Well, I wouldn’t force you to do it.> He shrugs.

<I don’t see why you’ve taken an interest suddenly. You complained that you thought I was a loudmouthed shrew!>

<Yes, but that was before I realized that you’re stunning.> He briefly scans her up and down. She hears him mutter a _damn_ under his breath—and he accused _her_ of objectifying him?

<You can stop that behaviour right now.> He lets out a hearty laugh. <It’s not funny!> She lowers her brows. She wasn’t in a laughing mood.

<You noble folk are all the same.> He leans up as Cordelia shamefully steals a glance. He was right… the thief was wearing pants. At any rate, It was _rude_ to be so bare—especially in her presence.

<Cover yourself!> She averts her eyes, reminding him.

<You need to reconsider your accusations.> He warns.

Cordelia gulps, it might be best if she made nice with him—but not too nice. She wasn’t about to trade her virtue for her freedom. But ...perhaps one small kiss would get her out of this mess. God, was she really going to do this?  

<The sapphire bracelet in that satchel.> She demands. <Give me that, and we have a deal.>

The thief eagerly grabs the satchel and pulls out the bracelet. <This?>

<Yes.> It was the most expensive item she owned. If she could escape his grasp, at least she could survive on the sale of the bracelet for a while.

<Okay...> He works his arm around her, pulling her towards his lips. She winces, as he looks at her suspiciously.

<Do I stink?>

<No!> _Far_ from it. She can feel the heartbeat in her ears—this was absurd.

<Don't tell me you've never touched lips before. What about that _fiancé_ of yours? > She glares at him. <At any rate, I promise I’ll be gentle.> He leans in, his lips inches away from hers. Her heart madly pounds against her chest, her gut churning in wild excitement. She could thank her parents for keeping her repressed for so long. She had to be convincing—which meant _no more gasping, or jumping!_ Experienced women would do nothing of the sort! He raises a brow. 

Dammit. She couldn’t let him think she was some sensitive snowflake. She bolsters the courage and cups her hands around his stubbled face, pulling him into a lip lock. Her lips tingle against his—as he takes initiative, massaging the insides of her mouth with his tongue. Her heart slams against her chest, her composure turning to mush as this man leads her on her back. Cordelia takes in the initiative, allowing him to dominate her. He breaks away momentarily, his violet eyes sparkling.

<God, you’re beautiful.> He murmurs against her mouth. Excitement fills her bones when he leans his weight on her, uncaring of the hard dirt ground she was pressed against. This… sensation—it was brilliant. How did she only discover this _now?_

She’s thrilled when he returns to her, his mouth devouring her own. She momentarily forgets that she’s locked in this horrid place, with the man who was hired to kill her.  


	3. Chapter 3

Her body is hot, the fabric of her dress sticks to her exposed skin. He peels her cloak from her shoulders, exposing the trickles of sweat glistening down her neckline. His kiss gently trails from her lips to her chest. A sharp gasp elicits from Cordelia’s mouth—her heart beats recklessly. Why did something so sinful feel so good? Why wasn’t she stopping him? If her schooling had taught her anything—it was that men’s advances meant nothing good—especially from dishonourable ones.

But, the man didn’t know she was a princess—the princess he was hired to kill.  Cordelia forgives herself for her behaviour. Surely the religious text would permit this exchange—especially when it was a matter between life and death. His near revealed frame was distracting—he raised her hands above her head in an attempt to secure her. His loose bangs look tousled, adding to his charm.

<You are a fabulous kisser.>

Was she? No, Cordelia couldn’t look too surprised. That would kill the illusion.

<I told you I had a fiancé.> She scowls.

<You have no love for him?> He says, almost hopeful. <You seemed quite eager to lock lips with me.>

<Do  _not_  get the wrong idea.> She huffs, realizing she is still on her back, his weight still upon her. <I intend to be fully faithful to him. You might have gotten a kiss out of me, but hear my words—that is all you shall receive.> His brow is raised when he leans in as he kisses the nape of her neck. She does her best to prevent herself from shuddering, but it fails.

<Is that a challenge?> He murmurs upon her alabaster skin.

<Of course not!> She speaks in the crossest tone she can muster.

<If you were so happy, you wouldn’t have left home—now would you?>

He had her there.

<You were a lot more appealing when you were kissing me.> She says flatly.

<Oh,  _was I now? >_ His warm lips return to hers. 

<If you give me back my satchel, I’ll allow this to proceed.> She doesn’t care if she’s pushing her luck—it’s the truth.  

<For a mere kiss? I don’t think so.> His grin widens as his finger trails around her bustline. <It’ll require a lot more than that to get your stuff back—and as you said, you have a fiancé.> 

Little did the thief realize that his teasing made her gut swirl in unfamiliar, yet pleasing excitement. He must have put a spell on her with those cursed violet eyes of his.

<What  _exactly_  would I have to do to acquire my things?> She pauses briefly, letting out a long-drawn sigh. <I presume I’d have to use my body in some shape or form.>

His mouth forms into an O shape, appearing surprised by her guess.

<I thought so.>

<Nothing gets past you, does it?> His grin is wicked. <I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what I’m interested in.>

Cordelia squeaks.<No,  _that_  is out of the question!> She stammers, her face beet red.

<And why, pray tell, is that?> His amused expression remains.  

<Because I’m to be married!> It’s an odd sensation because she wasn’t lying—but she didn’t plan to return home. She would keep up the ruse even if it was only a means to protect herself.  

<Well, if your soon to be husband is to bed you, why not get better acquainted with the act beforehand? I can teach you how to make him a lucky man.> His hand caresses her waist, idly pulling the tie of her dress. God, his voice is pleasing to her ears.

<I-I don’t need  _that_  kind of tutoring.> Her face is beet red, but she doesn’t push him away. He leans up, guiding her to his bare chest.

<If you’d just let me get a taste of you—I’d do anything you wish.>

As tempting as that offer was, Cordelia bides her time. If she escaped in broad daylight, she’d be carted home and forced to leave her kingdom to marry a man she hardly knew. She missed her window to escape—especially with the sun being so high in the sky.  But, if she stayed in the cabin with this thief, she’s not sure if she’d have any virtue left to her title.

<I'm not hearing a no...> He leans in.

<You should count your blessings that you had the opportunity to lock lips with me in the first place.> She inches away. 

<I expect nothing less from a woman of your standing.> He chuckles. <I can't wait to do it again.> 

<You won't be, I assure you.> 

The thief stands up, grabbing his clothes. He slips his vest over his bare chest, swiftly tying it up. <If you don’t mind me asking—why on earth did you run away from such a privileged life?>

<I didn’t run away.> She frowns heavily.

<I suspect that’s a lie. Or, you’d have not been so eager to lock lips with me.> His charming grin returns. <Did you run away because your parents forced your fiancé upon you?>

Cordelia’s eyes widen, briefly letting him know he’s correct. It’s a detail the thief doesn’t miss.

<I hardly know you—why do you think I’d be so quick to share my life secrets?>

<Well, you  _did_  kiss me—a man you just met, rather.> He chuckles. <Something tells me that time is not a factor in deciding who you trust.>

<Excuse me?!> She readies her hand to smack him, but he gently kisses it. Her skin lightly tingles from where his lips had been.  

<I forgot to ask you your name.> He whispers.

<What makes you think you’re privileged enough to know?>  

<There’s no need to be sour.> He raises a suspicious brow. <If we’re to work together, we need to be on naming terms.>

Not that she’d work for him, but she needed to distract him from her real identity somehow. There was a nickname,  _Delia_ , that her father called her—but that was too similar to Cordelia—which, was the name of the princess he was hired to kill.  

<Dee—ly.>

<Deely?> He ponders, lifting his finger to his lips. <I never heard that name before.>

<It’s a very common name for nobles in Wellspring,  so of course you never heard of it!> Her tone reflects her arrogance. <Don’t question it.>

He appears to fold his arms in suspicion. <Is it really? The name sounds oddly casual. I suppose I wasn’t expecting someone of your stature to have a bar maid name.> 

Cordelia pretends to be offended—her fake scoff of disapproval hopefully wasn’t a dead ringer. She would do her best to forget responding to Cordelia—for now, she was Deely.

<What of yours?> She sticks up her nose.  <A man of your manner and  _grace_  surely has a fitting name for his occupation.>

<I’m not liable to say—I’m a hired assassin. If I am to give you my name that would mean I trust you with my life. And my dear—as breathtakingly beautiful as you are…> 

<You won't tell me.> Cordelia stands up, brushing off her satin blue skirts. <And if you must know of my past, I’m sick of my parents deciding what I can and cannot do.>

<What do you expect to accomplish by running away?> He curiously asks. She understands it’s a question, but it sounds like he’s judging her.

<I want to make my own decisions—which was working rather well for me until you showed up.> She narrows her eyes.

<There’s no need to look at me like that—I won't hurt you.> He sighs. <All I ask is that you help me find your princess.>

<Where do you think a princess lives?> She crosses her arms. <Not in the woods, I assure you.> 

<I know where a princess lives, don't get smart with me. However, I’m sure a noblewoman of your stature has  _connections_. > He smiles.

<What makes you think I will out my princess?> She sighs. <I want my things back, but what you’re asking me to do could peg me a traitor.>

<She's rumoured to be a taxing succubus—spoiled beyond her wildest dreams. Besides, I believe there were gathering celebrating her departure— _because_ your folk were so eager to rid of her.>

<You will not call  _her_  a succubus! I will not tolerate such madness from a civilian who knows  _nothing_  about my princess.?

<Your loyalties are surprisingly strong. Is she a friend of yours?>

<No, but if she were—I’d be fortunate enough to have the honour of knowing her.>

He laughs, changing the subject. <If you’re not careful, I might just take you away from that fiancé of yours.>

<You don’t have a chance. It’s going to take a lot of convincing to sway my mind.>

<Your soft gasps tell me otherwise.> He almost appears pleasured when he recalls that thought. <I could live for those alone.>

<You're a brute.> 

<If I was a brute, I’d have stolen your virtue.> He collects his things, placing them in a large sack around his waist. Cordelia doesn’t miss the daggers at his side—which, would no doubt penetrate her heart should she slip up and make her identity known. She needed to calm her temper. He was a trained assassin—he said so himself.  

 

Twelve hours had passed since the two left the cabin. They had passed three towns on foot—which was tiring. They made frequent stops, eating at a local tavern—which she would encourage the thief to hand over her shillings as payment. With her cloak, no one had recognized her (thankfully). Her full stomach didn’t help her fatigue, however, and it showed that he's losing his patience with her. It wasn’t her fault—the thief claimed they weren’t lost—when he didn't where he was going.

Cordelia, exhausted, leans against a thick-barked tree, bemoaning how tired she is.

<I don’t understand why you’re dragging me so far away. This princess of yours lives in the Kingdom of Wellspring—if you have forgotten.> She grumbles.

<I already told you, I’m taking you to meet my comrades—back at headquarters. You know, The Sands.>

<You never told me we were heading there!> She stomps her foot. <I did  _not_  agree to go to St. Antilla!> 

<You don't have a choice. I need a translator.> 

 

Cordelia stiffens. She eyes the Inn up ahead, taking initiative by walking towards the stone building. <We’re staying here for the night. I’m tired!> She announces, not caring what the thief’s opinion is. <And you’ll be using those shillings to pay for it.>

Cordelia ignores his grumble as she opens the Inn doors—it looked to be a  _decent_  establishment to rest one’s head. Stone built with lined carvings beneath the windowsill—it might just be middle-class. The reception area seemed clean, ornate furniture present in the lobby. A painting of the countryside hangs by the wooden stairwell.

The ragged woman at the desk gives Cordelia a peculiar look. Her hair is brown and adorns wisps of grey—tied back in a loose bun. Did the attendant recognize her? Cordelia gasps in surprise. She had to make sure she wasn’t at all recognizable. She investigates the thief’s posture and slouches—similar to how he does.

Her eyes study the man beside her. “He looks like a ruffian. Are you sure you’re not in any trouble, miss?”

She was—but if she brought attention to them, they'd cart her back to the palace. She's not sure what's worse. 

“No, no. He’s …my cousin. Long lost in fact!” She pats his arm as he stares at her in confusion. “He’s eagerly wanted to show me his homelands, and I was just so tired."

“Two beds then? That’ll be ten silver shillings each.” The older woman doesn’t seem to care for her story.

<Give her twenty silver shillings.> Cordelia instructs the man beside her. <We need to pay to stay the night.>

<How do I know you’re being trustworthy? You know I don’t understand Weltish.>

<For crying out loud, just give her the money.> She shakes her head as she faces the attendant. “He’s not familiar with Weltish, please forgive him.”

The woman frowns, looking at her book. “I hope you can forgive me. I only have the one room available, so you only need to give me ten. Don’t worry, there are two separate beds in the room—you won't be sharing a bed with your cousin.” She replies likely because of the horror that spreads across Cordelia’s face. “May I have a name to book it under?”

“Deely …Countryway.” Her eyes trail from the painting. 

“Countryway?” The attendant sighs. “At least give me a  _real_  surname if you're trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Not that it be any business of mine…  _business is business._ Your room is on the second floor, 206.” She hands Cordelia the key once the thief hands her the money. Slightly embarrassed, she hurries up the stairs to the second floor. 

Cordelia opens the door, feeling warm cheeks when she sees how close the beds are. The room wasn’t fancy, but it was better than the cabin. She sits on the bed closest to the door, sliding her cloak off of her shoulders.  

The way his lips grin as his eyes remain on her is suspicious—she realizes she’s almost popping out of her deep-necked dress.

<Do you mind? You’re honestly not expecting to have a recreation of last night. That was based on a strict arrangement.>

<It’s not my fault you flaunt yourself so carelessly.> He raises an amused brow. <You’re lucky I’m not ill-mannered—the things I’d do to you—>

<That’s enough!> Cordelia spits back. She can’t help her face reddening at the mention. <Do you not have any decency!>

<You’re the one who forced a kiss on me—despite having a fiancé.> His smirk forces her eyes to narrow.

<Because  _you_  stole my stuff!> 

<I want to know the full story.> He sits on the edge of the bed, studying her face, changing the subject. <Why did you run away?>

<…My parents were using me to settle a score.> She frowns. <That’s as much as I’ll say in the matter.>

<That’d make sense why a highbred like yourself made it so far from home. Weren’t you scared?>

<Staying with them would have been much worse.> Cordelia crosses her arms. She could ask how he got involved in a mission like his—to assassinate a defenceless princess, but she’d rather not know.

<I apologize for my rudeness before—it was a stressful night. I understand we haven’t met under the best of circumstances, but if you let me, I can be quite an agreeable companion.> Instinctively, he leans closer, brushing his calloused hand behind her ear. She …doesn’t mind… no, she does! He leans in, kissing her mouth tenderly. Cordelia melts into him—she can’t pull away. It’s not him she’s into—it’s the feelings he stirs within her.

He swiftly leans her on her back, the stare of her violet eyes burns her cheeks. She freezes when his hands reach beneath her skirts.

<What do you think you’re doing?!> She protests; her face burning at his inappropriate touch.  

<Relieving you of these ghastly undergarments.> He smiles when he hooks his fingers along the ruffles of her pantaloons, sliding it down her legs. She should have  _slapped_  him for his indiscretions—but she didn’t. She let him do it—just like a commonplace whore. She shivers when he leaves a kiss on her ankle, slyly moving upwards.

It’s when he reaches her knee she yells, <Stop!>

Curious, he removes himself, poking his head from underneath her skirt. <But I hardly even started.>

<You shall not seduce me,  _thief_. > She glowers.

<Oh, Deely, it’s too late for that.> His hand glides up her thigh; as she freezes, her heart beating wildly against her chest. <Your skin is smooth.>

Cordelia couldn’t talk when he lightly brushes the tips of his fingers against her inner thigh—her gut literally  _swirling_  in delight. Having his hand  _right there_ , it was exhilarating. But he doesn’t move it, almost like he’s waiting for permission.

She closes her eyes, almost detecting he had the decency to stop. At least if he kept going, she could blame  _him_  for his obscene actions. But if he asked—she’d be the whore.

<You look petrified.> He finally speaks as he retracts his hand. <I apologize if I overstepped.>

<But what was that nonsense of “it’s too late”?!>

<It’s play.> The thief frowns as he leaves Cordelia in a heated mess. <Something to embellish the experience.>

So he didn’t mean to force her, despite telling her he was? What kind of  _play_  was that? All of this nonsense was hopelessly confusing. She scolds, turning on her side. <Play? Utter nonsense!> She crosses her arms, angrily looking at the wall. How dare he stir such feelings within her and refuse to quell them? Or, was she foolish to stop him? She should have just said yes. Cordelia’s ears perk up when she hears the man take off the fabric of his clothes, her head angles to take a peek. His back is finely sculpted. She frowns when he turns around, noticing her stare.

<Do you expect me to sleep fully dressed?>

<I wouldn’t be against it. It’d be more appropriate.>  

<If you can’t handle how I sleep, it’d be best if you turn around.> He says, slipping off his knee-high trousers, revealing –oh heavens! She covers her eyes before she glimpses at him.

<You’re going to have a difficult marriage, Deely.> There’s a hint of amusement to his tone. <I will never understand why highbrow men prefer their women so innocent. It’s annoying if you were to ask me.>

Cordelia feels that was a statement directed at her.

<It’s a symbol of purity!> She barely squeaks. <If your husband doesn’t know you’re pure, then how is he supposed to trust that the heir is his?> It was an honest statement—and one that was drilled into her since birth. 

The thief sighs. <If done correctly, the deed itself doesn’t have to hurt—or—produce heirs of any sort. By which I play testament to,  as I have no kids of my own.>

<As far as you know of.>

<I’m not a scoundrel.> He narrows his eyes. <In fact, I only sleep with experienced women. It’s teases like yourself I find troublesome. One minute, you’re down and the next—you want nothing to do with me.>

Cordelia felt that jab was at her. <I’m an ordinary noblewoman who would expect higher prospects!> She sighs heavily. <Just go to sleep, and we’ll forget this happened. You said we’re almost at The Sands, right?>

<Right.> He turns away, his shoulders slumped as he turns on his side. He pulls the covers over his back and mutters something to himself in an incomprehensible language.

It was her turn to mope, twisting around in her bed. This dress was horrid to sleep in. Not to mention her pantaloons were on the floor—maybe she could unfasten her garments before the man noticed. Because if he did—boy, she would be in for it.

Cordelia takes off the thick wool blanket and pulls the ties near the crevice on her back, allowing herself to slip out of the dress easily. She folds it neatly over a chair. That just left her in her loose-fitting corset—much less restrictive on the body than in her mother’s day. Already feeling the awkward breeze of her exposed rear, she tiptoes around the bed to grab her pantaloons, quickly slipping them on. She undoes the pin holding her braided bun together, allowing her long (now wavy) blonde locks to cascade down her back. It was a natural occurrence for her to wear it loose to bed, but that would mean it had to remain that way. Cordelia always had a maid style her hair (her chambermaids had a high turnover rate—for no reason other than their incompetence). She worries that her hair might become a nuisance upon their travels, so she keeps the pin on the sleeve of her dress.

Despite the lumpiness of the mattress and the itchy wool blankets, she’s grateful that her feet are off the ground. She rests her head on the pillow, closing her eyes before drifting off to sleep—stuffing those nasty urges she has underneath the thoughts of her new life. What did her future look like? If she had the proper amount of time, she would have settled for a plan to lure a wealthy man in—someone who could take care of her. He didn’t have to be handsome—but he  _had_  to follow direction. But she didn’t think of that plan and is now stuck with this thief—until he inevitably killed her.

Tears form beneath her closed lids as she grips the blanket. She had to breathe easy. Tomorrow they would reach The Sands… 

She had to pretend with all of her might—she's now a noblewoman named Deely.


	4. Chapter 4

Cordelia's day dress was becoming stained at the bottom, the dirt not taking kindly to the satin fabrics of her skirt. Then again, what could she expect from seven long days of travel?

Word of her capture had spread throughout the kingdom—which she would have found amusing if it wasn’t true. She had convinced the thief that because she looked like the princess, they had to avoid capture at all costs—meaning going to ramshackle inns and taverns so they wouldn’t be caught. She had thoughts to cut her hair—almost asking the thief to lend her his dagger to do so, but she was too attached to her golden locks to dare to go that far. Her hair was a symbol of beauty; she wasn’t ready to part with it. As for the thief, she was thankful he believed her without question—then again, she decided it'd be best to keep him docile. Kissing him kept his suspicions at bay. 

Cordelia leans away from the thief. She tries to stand up, but his bare arm stops her. <You know, spending time with you in close quarters like this isn’t helping. You say you have a fiancé, but it’s clear you have no intentions to stay faithful …not that I mind.> His hands encourage the blonde to stay put, as one hand plays with the fabric of her dress. 

<I thought you wanted me off because I wasn’t giving in?> She pulls a face—what an indecisive man. 

<Maybe I was being hasty.> He hums, smiling as he caresses her neck. <Allow me to ease you into it—>

<I told you, stupid thief—I am  _not_ sharing my bed with you.> Any peace between the two vanishes at an instant. She pushes him off of her as she stands up, brushing the wrinkles out of her dress as an attempt to relieve her own stirred feelings. She couldn’t allow him to catch on that she would be more than willing to lie with him for the night. <You’re arguably presumptuous.>

<And you a misleading—> He pauses intentionally, correcting his words. It didn't take too much imagination to wonder where he was going with that remark. <What I mean is, you can’t string me along like this.>

<Are my kisses sloppy? I thought they did you fine...> She humphs, her arms crossing tightly against his chest. 

<You don’t understand—when you kiss me—> He rubs his fingers through his hair. <You’re driving me nuts.>

<Am I now?> She raises a curious brow, unsure how she’s  _driving him_ anywhere. <My question still stands.>

<Of course I enjoy them—how else would I put up with your inherent tone otherwise?> His voice becomes serious. <Which is why no more kissing, unless you want to offer yourself _completely. >_

<What?!> No more kissing? That was absurd! Curse him for being so heartless. If she were to agree with the thief on one thing—it was that thing he did with his tongue. His kisses sent addicting shivers throughout her entire being. With a drawn-out sigh, she climbs into her own bed.  She can feel his heated stare when she pulls the covers over her shoulder. She wouldn’t undress for the night, the freeness from her corset would only stir her carnal feelings further, which wasn’t helping her in the slightest.

<By the by… you told me we were almost to The Sands days ago.> 

<It wouldn’t have taken us seven days to get here if you weren’t so edgy around the guards.> He frowns heavily. <You’re acting like you’re the one they’re looking for.>

<Heavens, don’t be ridiculous. They're looking for any blonde women—which if you didn't know—describes the princess perfectly. 

<How do I know you're not the princess?> He mutters under his breath. 

She tenses, <And why do you think a princess would hang around a tavern at night?> 

He sighs. <Well, if we're done here, I'm getting a drink.> He says almost bitterly. He leans from the bed, slipping his vest on as he heads toward the door. <Be out of that bed before I come back. If I can barely keep control of myself now, I can't imagine what I'll do when I've had too much ale.> 

This is the first time he left her alone—which means it was the perfect time to escape. 

She lets five minutes pass. Cordelia hops out of bed and investigates his side of the room—Oh! Her heart flutters when she sees her satchel by the end table. She grabs her necklaces, stuffing them along her bustline, and the shilling pouch. She notices that he’s left both daggers by his bed, but leaves both for now. She hurries back to her bed, taking great care in covering herself in case he came back early. Doing her due diligence, she tucks the necklaces in the pockets of her cloak. They weren’t deep, but it worked for the small golden chains—where she kept her sapphire bracelet. She dumps her shillings in the other free pocket, the pouch doesn't fit. No, if she would go through with this, she would take one of the man’s daggers with her. She didn’t know how to use it, but she could at least use it in case she ran into trouble. Cordelia hurries to his side of the room, grabbing the sheathed dagger and slips it underneath her sleeve—she didn’t know where else to put it. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, she throws the cloak over her shoulders and carefully leaves the room. The light outside showed that she had at least two hours of sunlight left before she’d run into trouble.

Cordelia sneaks down the stairwell, the place busy with jolly men and women praising the gifts of life—which Cordelia wasn't able to decipher. With a quick eye roll, she ignores the singing, scanning the premises for the thief she had kept company with. He’s at the bar, ensconced in chatter with the dark-haired man beside him. They must have been on familiar terms; the thief didn’t seem overly chatty with men until now. Cordelia throws her hood up and uses this opportunity to sneak out of the door.

She can hear her heartbeat rush through her ears as her palm presses the door handle. 

Fresh air hits her nose when she leaves the premises, her chest bursting with relief—she had escaped! Cordelia wants to squeal in joy but she had to wait—eying one of the wooded paths nearby. She  _hated_  forests, but it was her best bet. She’d likely die at the thief’s hand if she were to delay. If she took the path ahead, it would likely crawl with knights looking for her. Her mother would cart her to St. Antilla immediately to marry that foreign king. She shudders; she’d rather die at that rate. She  _had_  to enter the forest.

With her fists clenching her cloak, she doesn’t waste more time. Cordelia makes quick steps into the wooded path, accepting all dangers she would meet.

The path is dimly lit; Cordelia’s eyes had to adjust to the darkness before she proceeded. She knew branches would stick up from the ground without warning, so she had to watch her step to avoid wayward branches. She laughs to herself—the silly fears she had about the paths was nonsensical. As long as there was light outside, she should be fine to continue. Maybe if she met a traveller in the forest, she could ask to travel alongside them—if they didn't recognize her to be the princess. 

The path gets visibly darker. Despite her fears, Cordelia continues down the makeshift path. Freedom was worth the …shadowy figures in the distance, and …rustling leaves—they’re leaves, dammit. She stops, pressing her hand against her chest. She’s fine. There was no sense in having a panic attack—especially when freedom was mere moments away. If she didn't hurry up, the thief might catch up to her—if that happened, he might kill her for escaping. She had to get moving. It wouldn’t be long until she saw a light at the end of the path—would it? Cordelia continues until she reaches a dead end—no! She stomps her foot in place, digging her heel into the ground. She would have to stray off,  _hoping_  that no beasts—or giant spiders heaven forbid—would pray on her bones. Arming herself with the thief’s dagger, she picks up her skirt and  _gulps,_ holds her breath. 

God, she wishes she had listened to her instructors on the geography of her lands. Cordelia does her best to ignore the bristling of the leaves, jumping every time a twig pulls at her cloak. She was skitterish, and it showed. Her bravery was dwindling by the second. 

The skies were darkening with each passing minute. as Cordelia sighs helplessly, she's lost. She couldn’t see anywhere around her. Tears of frustration build up in her eyes—she was horribly useless out on her own. But, this was her decision. She could shed as many tears as she wanted to, but she had no choice but to proceed.

She soon learns that the bristling was not from the leaves, but skittering—coming from a giant,  _furry_  creature with—eight legs and—glowing red eyes.

Cordelia slams herself against a tree trunk as the creature investigates her. Her arms shake violently in fear as she tries to unsheathe the dagger. She whimpers softy, closing her eyes,  _praying_  it leaves her alone. She’s not sure she’s ready to take on the spider alone, never mind what she had told herself moments ago—but if it attempts to attack her, she’s more than screwed. She bolsters the courage, accidentally missing, stabbing it right in the eye—it squeals in pain, giving Cordelia ample time to run—with a hitch. Her cloak snags on a branch; she has to pull it free before that  _thing_  wants more of her. She can’t bear the thought if it called for backup. Cordelia rips herself free from the branch, accidentally tripping forward. She hears metal spill from her pockets but she doesn’t have the time to grab it. She had to scurry for her life before she'd be eaten alive! She maneuvers out of the way before it sprays a sticky-like substance from the trees, attempting to trap her in its web. It clearly had better visibility in the darkness than she did. There was no time to be scared! She was alone—she had to fight her own battles. Cordelia grabs a branch off a nearby tree, barely seeing how long it was—only feeling the flimsiness between her fingers. With a small  _snap_ , she’s able to break it off the tree, now using it as a weapon to defend herself. She’s glad she did, she’s able to keep her distance, batting away the aggravated insect. She could barely see how big it was, but through the sliver of light she had access to—it was a baby. But the one she attacked wasn't a baby at all—it was  _huge!_  Her blood curdles—that meant the spider she stabbed in the eye—was its mother. 

Hot on her feet, Cordelia weaves through the trees, deciding that hurting the spider wasn’t worth it. If it was a baby, it wouldn’t stray far from its nest, would it? If she waited around any longer, it's mother would return. She could only pray that the spider wouldn't leave her baby. But, now she was straying farther into the forest, losing sight of her path. Despite the path looking terrible ahead, she had to proceed. She couldn’t stay in this godforsaken forest any longer. Picking up her skirts, she hurries through the forest.

Cordelia panics when the skittering sounds from before multiply—they were above, and it was too dark to see above her. The urge to scream is overwhelming, but if she surrendered to that whim—it would draw more spiders to her. No matter how scared she was, she had to use whatever wits she had left. She still had the stick in her hand—and desperately regretted to pull the dagger from that spider's eye.

No, Cordelia  _had_  this. She gulps ...again. She wasn’t sure what path led out of the nest—and was it safe to turn back? That’s where the maimed spider was—and would spell death for her if she tried.  She has to remember that. 

A twig snaps beneath her, causing the mass of giant spiders to focus their attention on her—she can see multiple pairs of glowing red eyes. Her stomach drops instantly, she knows this is it. Dammit! Her heart leaps from her chest as she’s forced on her back, the spider toppling her; its furry, hairy limbs twitching in place. Cordelia’s shriek echoes throughout the forest. She would die—all because of some stupid damn twig!

<Deely!?>

The familiar voice momentarily draws the spider's attention away from her. What? No, she's hearing things—only  _he_ knew her by that name. There’s no way the thief could have followed her all the way out here. God, he would kill her—if this spider didn't make quick work of her first. Did it matter which one did?! Her eyes now keenly adjusting to the little light around her, she braces her hands against the furry spider to keep it at bay, tremors crawling up her spine as its fur tickle her arms. She feels its heartbeat against her palms as her lips quiver in disgust.

A matter of seconds pass before she feels the insect lift off of her; to which she’s smart enough to know it’s not the insect’s doing. It’s the thief’s, and knowing how thieves react (thanks to the bedtime stories in the tales her father told her as a little girl), her throat would be next on the chopping block. She rolls out of the way, taking advantage of the brief reprieve he’s given her.

<Get out of here,  _now!_ > 

Cordelia wants to run—hell, her mind is screaming at her too, but she can’t. She can’t leave him here to fend off a nest of spiders. She did her best to shrug it off before, but there was comradery between the two—even if they only shared kisses. His actions had shown that he cared enough to temporarily break his aim—dammit, why is she wasting time here? Cordelia makes a swift decision, she will help him. If there was one thing that would be her undoing, it would be her fickle mind. 

<Above you!> She screeches, as a giant spider topples him. He’s pinned under the might of the monster, but Cordelia hovers around him—nervous to approach. It was different when she was the one in danger, but when she saw it’s massive size—god, now wasn’t the time to get weak limbed! Terrified, she halts—her legs turning to mush. She decided to help, and that’s what she would do! Taking up the courage she needed, the blonde screams as she charges shoulder first into the furry creature—shivers instantly overtake her as she writhes in its presence. It works, the spider jumps from him—but now it sees her as it's target. The spider topples her, pinning her on her back with its torso. She lets out a blood-curdling scream as its fangs become visable. The slice of flesh and guts pierce Cordelia’s ears—the massive spider collapses on top of her. The thief rolls it off, as he helps her off the ground. She’s both terrified and disgusted. She can’t bear to look at herself. 

The skittering continues above—even the thief is cursing under his breath. Her fears amplify—gripping onto the taller man for added protection—despite her feelings toward him moments ago.

<Deely, I told you to run.> His voice shows his displeasure. <I would have caught up to you.>

<No you wouldn’t, I saved your behind from getting eaten—> He covers her mouth with his hand. He hushes her with a sharp tone as he looks above him.  There were more where those wretched spiders came from. 

<It had to be you who lead us right into their nest...> His whisper hints he blames her for the ordeal. <You're lucky the treasures you dropped led me straight to you.>

<Well, if it weren’t for your lack of respect, I wouldn’t be in this mess!> The blonde scoffs. 

<We can argue later, just keep your wits about you for just a while longer.>

<But you're the one who started it—>

<Shh!> The thief positions himself in front of her; Cordelia’s confidence raises from his presence. Even though he’s a lawbreaker, he was noble enough to ensure her safety. She wishes she had that stick of hers—it would have really come in handy right about now…

<Look at the ground,  _now! > _He yells, shoving her head downwards.

<Ouch—not so hard!> She says, but he’s insistent on his positioning. She has no choice but to comply.

Within seconds, she hears loud  _thunks_  surrounding them. She couldn’t believe her eyes—the nest of spiders—all of them were dropping dead!  But—he hadn’t even touched them! Cordelia gasps, relieved to have be saved, but… at what cost. She stares at the thief, his disposition strangely out of character.

She wasn’t sure what to think, other than hiding her nose from the awful stench that wafted around them. The smell of spider guts— _h_ _orrible_. But one question wasn’t far from her lips,  

<What did you do to those spiders?>

<They say I was born as a demon.> He chuckles. <I can give you one look and you’ll drop dead.>

<I’m not joking. Did you use some kind of magic?> Cordelia recalls a story her father used to tell her when she was a little girl  _The Magical Princess_ , but the verses in the story felt real. Then again, her father was a wonderful storyteller.

<You could say that.> He eyes her suspiciously as he lets her down. <I'm surprised you believe in magic.> 

<You could call me a believer.> She raises her hands to her hips, but is quickly interrupted when he scoops her up in her arms. Her flushed complexion can't be seen in the dark. He plants a sudden kiss upon her lips; she can feel his grin upon them. 

<You surprise even me,  _Deely_. > His eyes are soft again, almost sparkling. <Few women I’ve known have come to my rescue like that.> 

<Don’t be dramatic.> She scoffs, half smiling. <Besides, I thought you said kissing was off-limits.>

<I changed my mind.> His soft tone throws her off—he sounds like a concerned lover, not her captor! She hates how his affectionate tone warms her heart. 

<You left me an opportunity and I took it.> 

<Now here I thought we were becoming friends.> He frowns. <Imagine how shocked I was when I was informed my  _cousin_  had left the inn.> 

 

<Why did you leave? You said it yourself, you wanted to get out of Wellspring.> 

<I'm your captive.> 

<You still see me that way? Interesting, I wasn't aware that captives  _begged_ to be kissed by their captors each night. > 

<Excuse me!> Cordelia scoffs. <I never  _begged_  to be kissed.>

<My lips beg to differ—my bottom one is getting tender with all your biting.>

_< I-I do not bite! You take that back!>_

<I never said it was an issue. Which, has got me thinking. Your type is all concerned with legitimacy and marriage and whatnot...> His grins mischievously. <How about I propose a deal.> 

<What kind of deal?> Cordelia isn't sure she wants to be in his arms anymore, despite the feeling of his soothing heartbeat against her ear. 

<I don't want you to be my captive anymore. If you promise that you'll help me find the princess, I'll split the wealth with you.>

She should have expected that. <I highly doubt that your friends will want to split the wealth with an outsider like me.> 

<That won't be an issue.> He hums. <Because when I gain the money, I will ask for your hand.> 

<Hand in ...marriage?> She balks. 

<Of course, what else would I mean?> It's not the question that shocks her, people have gotten married for mere exchanges of property and wealth—like her previous situation... But, this is the man who wanted to kill her for  _talking too much_. 

<That’s not possible—there is no way I’m agreeing to that ridiculous proposition.>

He eases her down, appearing hurt by her rejection. <Why not—you said yourself that you ran away from home? Once I’m given my reward, I will take care of your every need, Deely.> Those violet eyes of his visibly brighten.

This was coming out of nowhere—there had to be a reason for his proposal. Unless his culture dictated that this behaviour was ...normal? <That’s beside the point—just because you’ve decided that you’ve taken an interest in me doesn’t mean I will agree.>

<I understand your point.> He lets out a begrudging sigh. <You’re a woman of class—I shouldn’t have expected my bold proposal to work.>

Her eyes widen in surprise. This man was anything but predictable.

<How about a courtship—that’s what they do in nobility, right?>

<Can you lead me out of these woods first—I can’t say I’m in the mood to talk about courting when I should fear for my life.>

<You have nothing to fear—those spiders are as good as eliminated.> Cordelia wants to question the certainty of his tone but ultimately decides against it. She’s not ready for any more surprises.

<Why the sudden interest in me?>

<You can speak Weltish—which my comrades cannot. You’ll be a wonderful asset to my team.>

<And that’s why you wish to wed—because I can be of  _use? > _She would have understood it more if he wanted to get in her bed—but to be used as some kind of tool... it reminds her of why she left the palace in the first place.

<You wish to be free from your homelands, I wish to expand my enterprise. I see it as a fair trade.>

 

<And what if I refused you outright?>

He frowns. <It’s nothing personal …but if you leave my sight next time, I’ll have no choice but to kill you. You know too much about me.>

<How?! I don’t even know your name!?> She protests, seeing that his frown doesn’t change. <You’re doing exactly what my parents did—except they won't kill me for running away!> Cordelia screams, stomping her foot. <You know what, I’m out—just take that knife and slice my god-damn throat already. I’m sick of being bartered about like cattle!> 

<I didn’t realize my proposal would offend you—I thought you’d be pleased with this arrangement?>

<You’re either incredibly stupid or purposely insulting me.>

<I understand we met in dire circumstances—>

<That you caused!> She cuts him off. <I wouldn’t be in this mess if you left me and my stuff alone!>

<Deely, come on—you’re overreacting.> His tone raises.

<Oh, am I?!> She flails her hands in front of her as they leave the forest—a small town is ahead. Neither acknowledges it. <You’re so obsessed with this  _princess_  being murdered that you do not see what’s right in front of you!>

<I’ve had enough of this.> He growls. <Either you shut up, or I’ll make you.>

<Do it. Make me shut up.> She tests him, eyeing his hand.

She sees that he’s tempted to, his hands quake in frustration. She knows this could be suicide, but she’s too pissed to care. <What, too scared to hurt a woman? If you can’t hurt me, how the hell are you going to kill this  _princess_  you’re so infatuated with?>

God, why was she trying to goad him? He was a trained assassin, a killer! But reason falls far from Cordelia’s mind—pure stupidity replaces it.

<Dammit, Deely!> He kicks the ground in frustration. <You’ve fucking cursed me!>

An explosion of relief overwhelms her. 

<Maybe that’ll teach you to put up or shut up.> She learned that phrase from one tavern she and the thief stayed at prior. However, it didn’t end well for her, as the anger in the thief’s eyes returns.

<Do  _not_  test me.> He growls.

<Or what, you will spank me?> She wickedly grins, feeling untouchable until he grabs her wrist, yanking her forward. She lets out a yelp, but he doesn’t let up, practically dragging her along the dirt path.  

<You better learn to shut your mouth before we reach The Sands.>

<So I take it the courtship is off?> Her wicked smile still reminds. If he would be abusive with his actions, she can do the same with her tongue.

<Like hell it is—you’re just the wicked wench I remember you to be.>

<And you a hellish brute.> She retorts.

It was nice they could agree on  _something._


	5. Chapter 5

<Are you serious?! You’re the one who proposed on a whim, just to use me as some translator! And you think you have the grounds to call me unpredictable…> Cordelia protests, the thief still has a strong grip on her wrist. 

<I’d make a fine husband, despite your determination to see it otherwise.>

<Yes, by kidnapping, restraining, and forcing yourself onto me. Yes, you’re a real winner.>

<Force myself? Excuse me,  _you_  are the one who kissed  _me_  first.>

<Because I felt I had to! You had two daggers right in sight, you could have slit my throat if I didn’t throw my manners to the wayside!> Yes, she's enamoured with his build, but that was beside the point.

<And all the nights afterward? Can’t say you looked too threatened by my presence while you were all over me.>

<Which was fine, until you wanted more. It would have been much nicer if you hadn’t tried to pressure me into giving you my virtue.>

His grip lessens as he sighs. <Deely, I told you—it’s torture you won’t at least entertain the thought.>

<What’s there to entertain? I’m not interested in a man shredding apart my insides for his own pleasure.>

<Shredding out your insides? Where the hell did you hear such a thing?!> He’s amused by her words, that much was clear.

<My own mother—she’d have no reason to lie about that. She experienced it herself!>

<Her husband must have been a right brute in the bedsheets.>

Cordelia bristles at the implication. To think of her parents—even the least bit naked sends shivers down her spine.

<And what do you know, do you often bed virgins?>

<I try to stay away from them—they cause more trouble than what they’re worth.>

Cordelia’s displeased by his remark. <Are they now? Yet you still make a move to pursue them?>

<I don’t.>

<Then why do you heckle me?>

<Because  _those girls_  don’t kiss me every night that I’m with them—they don’t tempt me as you do. You’re driving me  _mad_. > The desperation in his voice returns. He pulls her in with a strong arm. She retaliates by bracing her hands against his chest. To her surprise, he eases off. She was expecting more of a fight. 

<Don’t think I've forgiven you.> 

<Deely, why are you fighting it? Just because your mother told you some horror story about being ripped apart?>

<It’s different for you—you’re some lowborn thief who can sow his seed as he pleases. For me, it’s …different.> She had decided that she didn’t want the life of a princess, but not because she wanted to sleep around with lowborn fools.

<Do you plan to go back to your fiancé after we cut our deal?> The concern in his voice is shocking.

<No!> It comes out more abrupt than she means. <I don’t want to discuss my  _virtue_  with the likes of you.>

<No one would have to know.

<My future husband would--you know--notice that there wasn't any blood!>

<Blood? Since when?> He chuckles. <I am chums with a woman, and she never told me about any blood. Are you sure your uptight mother isn’t just trying to scare you into staying  _pure? >_

<Then how does a man know his bride is a virgin?> 

<Bloody hell, Deely, we went over this. Where I come from, no man gives a damn about anything like that. We don’t want our wives to bleed to prove their  _virtuousness,_ we want them to enjoy the experience as much as we do. That’s all I’m saying, is that I can give you a wicked time. If you’d stop being so uptight.>

Well, that’s something she never thought she’d hear. Men in St. Antilla  _care_  about their wives in bed? Did that mean King Ryne would as well? No. That life was behind her now. Yet the thief’s words were stirring her perceptions. A feeling better than kissing? Was there ever such a thing? He was persistent on making her believe there was—no, she can’t let his words affect her thoughts.

<You’re the one dragging me around, so it's hard  _not_ to be uptight.> She frowns. <You flaunt your strength where you see fit,  _knowing_  I can’t fight back. Or, is that how you get your  _fix? >_

<Oh, not this again.> He moans.  

<What? Most men do—its what makes you all dangerous.>

<That’s not… _god_ …no.> His fingers now course through his thick, dark hair. <I don’t enjoy forcing my weight around women. I’m doing it because you’re a loose canon—you could get me killed.>

<And why should I care about that? Considering you’ve threatened my life numerous times?> 

<You honestly think it’s my fault you ended up this way? You’re a beautiful, wealthy woman. What on earth did you expect when you ran away from your privileged life?>

<So just because you find me pretty means I’m subject to the whims of indecent, filthy thieves?>

He’s offended by her accusation. <We’ve been over this. If you thought of me as filthy why were you so inclined to nibble at me with that mouth of yours.>

<I did not!>

<You did so.> His mood changes from frustration to amusement as he lets her go. 

<I’m not taking this.> Cordelia grabs the mound of fabric, lifting her skirts over her ankles.

<Now where do you think you’re going with no means to provide for yourself? You forget you scattered your belongings in the woods, which I have right here in my pockets.> 

God, he was right. She stomps her foot again—any harder and she’d snap her ankle right off. <Go piss yourself!> She yells.

He lets out a hearty chuckle. <How is it that you both infuriate and amuse me at the same time.>

<Because you’re not right in the head.> She growls under her breath.

<That’s a matter of opinion.> He shrugs. <I’ve been told I’m an acquired taste.>

<Aquired is right.> She grumbles. 

Within half a kilometre, Cordelia sees a large, lit four-story home—in the middle of a spacious clear cut field. The moon shone right on top of the building like it was guiding them to it. She could hear instruments playing, and, could see moving shadows along the front. No, those weren’t shadows, they were people.

<What’s that ruckus over there?> Cordelia leers at the direction of the manor.

<Oh, that’s the Locke residence, they hold dances to all social classes on the night of the full moon.>

<That’s oddly specific, and leaving a lot up to chance.> Cordelia crosses her arms in suspicion.

<Have you ever been to a dance?>

A dance? Those had to be the same as balls, right? Cordelia was raised on balls. She’d wear exuberant dresses, have the hands of royal prospects—which were all rather too old or not old enough. 

<Would you be interested in attending?> 

<Isn’t it dangerous to be seen walking around these parts—given your occupation?> 

<At the Lockes, no one cares about politics. If you cover the fare, they are willing to look past any charge.>

Cordelia sees what his point is. The Lockes weren’t a familiar house, so surely they didn’t know of her appearance—especially since they entertained paupers. It shouldn’t be a place where others would scout her out. Hopefully. It might be safe to check it out, but did she really want to? She didn’t want to risk anyone discovering who she was.

He holds out his arm. <For one night, I think we can call a truce.>

<Your temper is out of hand and unpredictable.> She rolls her eyes.

<Which is what makes us the perfect match.>

Cordelia grits her teeth. 

<Fine.> She raises her chin. <But I warn you that I won’t save face. If you can’t keep up, you’re the one who’ll look the fool.>

<Freydis has shown me how to dance, I’m in good hands.>

<Freydis? I’ve never heard a name like that before.>

<Says  _Deely_. > He laughs.  

Of course, he hadn’t heard the name Deely before—she made it right up on the spot. Stupid man.

She gasps when he loops his arm in hers, excitingly pulling her in the direction of the manor.  

<Hey!> She grumbles. <That is not how you treat a lady.>

<I’ll start treating you like a lady when you act like one.>

She raises her hand, ready to smack him across the face. <How dare you!> He stops her wrist from keeping contact with his face.

<This is what I mean. If you’re going to survive in The Sands, you and I have to get along.> Dammit, he was right. If she tried anything around his group of thieves, assassins, whatever they were—she would likely perish at their blade. 

<Okay, but you better behave yourself. I’ll be mad if you try anything funny.>

Cordelia’s overwhelmed with nerves when they walk up to the tall, double red doors. This was it, her moment of truth. If  _anyone_ recognized her, she was dead. If they didn’t, that meant she was really out of Wellspring territory. She grips the thief’s warm arm as they approach.

<You don’t need to grip my arm so hard.> The thief whispers.

She stays quiet, embarrassment rushing through her cheeks. He didn’t need to bring attention to it—was he trying to make her awkward?

The greeter stares at the two (seemingly mismatched) pair, which Cordelia could understand. The thief is dressed in a stark half-open vest, while she wore a heavy cloak and (now soiled) day dress. She smiles, attempting her best casual expression, but it doesn’t seem to work on the man. His skeptical look strikes fear into her gut.

“Your names please?”

He speaks in Weltish—which means the thief wouldn’t be able to understand him.

“Deely  _Uldur_ way, and Alex Yonderlust.” It was the best she could do on such short notice. She didn't know the thief's name, and she didn't care to. 

The tall, lean man raises a speculative brow. “Listen, whatever business the two of you have here is none of mine. I ask that the two of you don’t steal, or maim any guests. Be respectful.” He holds out a finger. “Or we will throw you out.” He holds out his hand, which was easy enough to understand in any language. The man wanted money.

She tells the thief to hand over some shillings. He does. 

The two step into the foyer, the space is suspiciously decked in red curtains, and dismal lighting. She was expecting a classier environment, but given what the thief had said about the place, she shouldn’t have been too surprised about what she saw. Suspicious groans cross her ears—blushing when she realizes why. 

<Where did you bring me?> She whispers under her breath.

<Listen, we’re going to the ballroom—just ignore the noises you’re hearing.> He guides her away from the right corridor. If her instincts were right …god, she couldn’t bear to think about it.

Within the left wing was a grand ballroom, with a mix between finely dressed patrons and peasants. Cordelia was surprised to see the social classes get along so well—it would have never happened in Wellspring. The closest anyone could have gotten to royalty was if you were a knight—and if you were a knight—you could marry a princess. It’s what happened to her mother and father, after all (and she hoped that one day the same would happen to her, but it seemed her mother had _different_ plans). Her father had come from nothing, and, he had always kept his humanity despite the power he weld. She had to remember that. At this moment, she wasn’t above these people. She was one of them.

<What do you think?>

<It’s …something.> She raises her finger to the edge of her lips. <Who did you say the owners were again?>

<The Lockes.>

<And how did you come to know this house?>

<Through legal means, if that’s what you’re concerned about. I assure you, I’ve done nothing illegal—or at least within these walls.> He appears to frown. <Now if you’d pardon me, I’m going straight to the buffet. Saving your skin back there has made me ravenous.> He takes a handful of her rear— _how dare he be so crude, especially in public!_

She would slap him, but he swiftly makes his leave before she gets the chance to do so. To her relief, no one had noticed the man's rudeness—or if they did—didn’t seem to care. He shouldn’t have been so handsy with her in the first place—yet the atmosphere was conducive to handsy behaviour as she can see from the people around her—kissing and groping each other. Disgusting.  

Her stomach softly growls as she watches the thief hover near the buffet. The way he was digging through the grub was repulsive, but it wasn’t something she hadn’t seen before. She couldn’t get used to his awful table manners. Cordelia approaches the end table, where two small cobs of corn catch her eye. She had it before on their travels and was the only kind of peasant food she could stomach. She digs in, eating it quickly. The sooner she satisfied her hunger, the sooner she could pick the corn out of her teeth.

Thirty minutes pass and the crowd is called to rows of two. Men on one side, and ladies on the other. Cordelia ensured her hair was tied in a low bun to hide its unkemptness. She smiles when she hears she soft hums of the violin and cello play in the background as a tall, well-dressed man greets her. His blond locks frame his face handsomely, and Cordelia can’t help but smile at him.

His green eyes are dazzling.

“May I?” He holds out his hand as Cordelia takes it. He whisks her along the patterned tile floor, his stare consumes her. “If I may be so bold, why is a beauty like yourself mixed up in a crowd of bandits and whores?

“I might say the same of you.” She cocks a brow. He was a sight for sore eyes. 

“Ah, fair point, my lady. You see, it’s my cousin who owns this establishment, so to speak. I told him that I’d keep an eye on things while he was away. I’m Edward Locke.”

“Deely.” She doesn’t bother with a last name—no one seemed to believe her and she hardly assumed the man would notice. 

“What a charming nickname—short for Cordelia, right?”

Her blue eyes widen as her mouth gapes open.

“Cordelia isn’t a very common name, and the only Cordelia I heard of is the Princess of Wellspring—and I daresay that it’s a mighty coincidence that she winds up missing—and yet I find you here, someone who looks  _exactly_  like her.”

“Oh, don’t be silly! I never heard of such a woman!” Her laugh is fake—her stomach churns in fear.

“There’s no need to worry, _Your Majesty_. Your secret is safe with me. After all, you’re not the first member of royalty who has run off with a peasant, and I’ll doubt you’ll be the last.” He bows as the music stops playing, the thief soon approaching. 

"I see I've outstayed my welcome, good day,  _princess."_

<Who the hell is that man?>

Cordelia’s heart hammers against his chest when the well dressed Locke leaves. God, she had to lure the thief out of the room, and quick. Cordelia leads him to the right wing, where the strange noises were coming from. She finds a door, and slams it shut. The thief looks at her in surprise and accepts her quick advance. Kissing him would be a fabulous distraction. 

<Not that I mind, but what did that man say to you to act so brash?>

<Nothing, he said nothing.> She breathes in between kisses.

<I know it wasn’t nothing, but it curled my blood to see you smiling at him like that—maybe I should thank him instead.> He lifts his hands underneath her skirts, the red hue of the room was influencing his sultry mood. The fear is soon replaced with joy as Cordelia mentally sighs in relief. If she could keep the thief occupied, he might not catch wind of what the man said. If she could keep him in this room for the time being…

He grabs the tie of her cape, letting the heavy fabric fall around her ankles. He grips her shoulders, guiding her onto the mattress—his warm lips venture down to her neck, the stubble of his chin tickles her exposed skin. A brief thought enters her mind. If she did allow him to …show her the ways, he might opt to keep her alive, even if he found out she was the princess. God, that would be sinking farther and farther down a path that she didn’t want to venture down. Until he feels his warm fingers against her hipbone. A joyous pang aches in her gut. It would be a right job to lure the man away from her now.

His words from before plague her mind—he did say that he would be gentle with her. Was she going to allow this?

<God, let me taste you, Deely. Don’t make me beg.>  

<Fine. But you better be gentle, like you promised.>

He stares at her in disbelief. <Deely, I just asked you to share my bed.>

<I didn’t mishear you.>

<But you said—>

<I know what I said. Don’t make me change my mind.>

She brushes her fingers through his hair as he kisses her, her heart swelling with joy. Being close to him had spurned a reunited vigour—one she could not quell. It was impulsive, her gut both screaming in delight and in fear. No, she was not a princess anymore. It didn’t matter—she would let herself melt into his embrace. She was going to embrace her new life as …a commonplace whore—which she could handle if it meant it would keep her alive. As she lets out her next breath, she feels the fabric of her pantaloons slide down her legs. Excitement fills her chest—god—she was really going through with this.

Cordelia’s knees are parted, she can feel his warm stare at the innermost parts of her. She hides her face at first, refusing to show her embarrassment. The thief doesn’t pay mind, gliding his hand down her thigh. He lowers his head, devouring his lips among her spot; her cheeks tingling in delight. She twitches, her hands bracing along the edges of his head, her fingers dig into his hair as his hum tickles her.

<Why are you putting your mouth  _there?! >_ She whimpers. Her mind is wiped blank as he proceeds, him keeping her at bay. He takes time, tasting every crevice that she has to offer. She shudders, throwing her shoulders back. Every inch of her skin tingled with delight when his tongue played with her. Her fear melts away, a building mound of delight taking its place.

 _< Stop! I’m about to have a stroke!_>

He pulls away, a slight grin on his face. <Keep an open mind, Deely.> He purrs against her.

Cordelia wants to trust him, but the feeling that was taking over her body, an overwhelming sense of pressure was building in her gut—it scares her. He doesn’t listen. She tenses, letting out a high pitch squeal, turning into a loud, gratuitous moan. He tastes her gently to soothe the impact, the shock of her experience leaving her skin pulsing from exposure. He takes a breath, easing himself to look at the woman he had satisfied.

<Now that’s what I was referring to.> He grins as he strokes her moist cheek. 

<What?> She gasps, her mind numb from the delights she had been exposed to. <That couldn’t have been it.>

<We aim to please our women first, then ourselves.> He whispers, his warm hands pulling her thighs towards his hips. <It’s no fun unless we both feel good. I promise I won’t be rough.> His eyes glisten as he strokes himself against her.

She winces as the pressure builds between her legs—his warmth gently sliding within her. She lets out a sharp yelp. He whispers for her to relax, but the pressure was too much! He tries again, forcing his weight against the pressure. It stings, but, stops almost as quickly. The thief looks pained, but it appears he enjoys himself as he smiles down upon her. His lips quiver when they lock eyes, he grasps his hands into her hair, pulling her forward into a warm kiss. She can hardly focus; both sensations overwhelm her being. His movements are gentle, yet firm when he secures her mouth upon his. God, if he kept up like this, she would scream.

He overtakes her as he takes hold of her hips, losing himself in his movements. Cordelia screams in delight—her body now warm with tingling anticipation. All sense of reason is drowned out as he grips her tightly, breathing heavily in her ear. His gasp is loud, final, as he takes care not to crush her under his weight. Sliding out of her, he lies beside her in relaxation.

The thief was right—what she had experienced, it was glorious. It was nothing like her mother had said. It was the complete opposite!

<You never told me it would be this nice.> She sighs, the urge to snuggle against him was prominent.

<Would you have listened?> He wipes the sweat from his brow. <But I’m not interested in arguing with you. I want to enjoy this.>

He pulls her closer, untying the back of her day dress.

She slaps his hands away, the confusion on his face clear.

<I didn’t say you could undress me!> She turns away in disapproval.

<But I—>

<No but’s about it. I said no. Now tie me back up.>

The thief’s drawn-out sigh isn’t lost on her. It was the only amount of modesty she could save for herself—despite the actions that had passed between them. The fabric tightens against her waist as he loops the bow back into its’ original form.

<I don’t see why you need to be so touchy. Not after what we’ve shared.>

<You’re not seeing me naked, and that’s final.> She felt hot beneath her clothes, but it was the one piece of dignity she had left. If she had to use her body to save her identity from him, so be it, but he wouldn’t get the chance to see her exposed. However, that didn’t stop her from gazing at his chiselled, defined form. God, how different he looked out of those disgusting rags. Her gut tightens in yearning.

<I hardly think it’s fair that you get to ogle me, yet I have to imagine what’s underneath your dress.>

<I’m  _not_  ogling.> She slaps the air. <Besides, I say you got a  _lot_  more than what you deserved.>

<You are ogling.> He slyly grins. <Next time, I want to see  _all_  of you.>

<There isn’t going to be a next time.> God, that was a lie and she knew it. The things he did with his tongue, she could never forget.

<You’re a terrible liar.> He sits up, exposing even more of himself. God, why did he have to look so  _delicious_? It's maddening…

<I’m not lying. Don’t let your overactive imagination fool you.>

<If you say so.> His wide smile tells her he doesn’t believe a word she says. <Now, are you going to sleep in that thing?>

<I’ll strip to my shift, but that’s it.> Cordelia stands up, untying the bow that kept her dress attached to her waist. She undoes the ties on her back, allowing the dress to slide down to her ankles. She wears a cream-coloured undergarment—a shift that reached her mid-thigh. It was fine to sleep in when she was in her own bed, but in the company of a man—it was far too revealing. Yet, he was displayed—admirably—right before her eyes. He waves her over, securing his strong arms around her waist as he leans her on his chest.

<Now, doesn’t that feel better?> He hums, his mood relaxes as he pulls the silk linen cover over them. 

Cordelia didn't want to admit it, but he was right. 

She feels exceptionally relaxed. 


	6. Chapter 6

The soft sound of his beating heart soothes Cordelia into wakefulness, a soft, warm tingling feeling is against her cheek. She couldn’t remember the dream she had, but, she couldn’t deny that reality had somehow _felt_ like a dream come true.

Her cheeks flush when her warm pillow rustles in his sleep. _Good god!_ It wasn’t a dream… She raises her hand to place it on his warm, bare chest. She didn’t appreciate how smooth his skin was until this moment—how beautifully tan it was compared to her own washed-out complexion. Was he born this way, or had the sun blessed him? 

Considering his occupation, Cordelia would have expected the man to bare more scars than he had—she couldn’t see any from her current position. A brief glint of hope rises in her belly—what if he was lying about being an assassin—that he was only a common thief trying to scare her into working for him? Was that an idle fancy worth holding onto? After the whimsical acts he performed, she couldn’t stop smiling. A warm blush creeps upon her cheeks—she had never dreamed in a million years she would hand her virtue to a man without class or status, but, she was learning it was hardly important. What mattered was that he didn’t hurt her—he kept to his word. He was gentle. 

Cordelia prays that he would proposition her again. 

The blonde leans against the thief. The soft satin sheets shone beautifully against the sliver of light that peeked through the giant window. It's tinted, which gave Cordelia the impression it'd be hard to break. A creeping thought unsettles her. She still doesn’t even know the man’s name. Would he give it to her now that the two have lain together? She ponders briefly, biting her inflated lip—he had nibbled it too hard last night. Those amazing feelings stirred within her when his bare thigh brushes up against hers. She closes her eyes as an attempt to restrain her hand from wandering—no—this was _not_ the time to be curious. She had to keep her wits about her. Cordelia grips the satin sheet, the draw to lift it up intense. God, what kind of princess was she—wait—no, she gave up that title the minute she escaped the palace. With closed eyes, she lifts the cover. The red hues against his legs made it hard to see what she was looking for.

<A good morning to you, Deely.> He lets out a soft breath of air, she can hear the smile on her lips as her heart stops. She slams her arm down, her cheeks red from humiliation. God, she couldn’t imagine what he thought of her unholy actions.

<G-Good morning.> She sputters back, refusing to look at the man.

<You have nothing to be ashamed of.> He points out. <Curiosity is our nature as human beings.>

<I wasn't--> 

He lifts the covers from his waist to emphasize that he wasn’t bothered by her taking a peek. She covers her face, letting out a displeased moan.

<Deely, you’ve been sheltered way too long.>

<Cover yourself up, _now! > _She regrets everything—this was way too much to handle.

She hears nothing before she hears the bed creek softly under the weight of his body. Instead, a warm arm wraps around her hips, drawing her close to the exposed thief. The soft sheets cover her frame as he turns her around. His coy grin makes him unbearably hard to ignore. His rough hand brushes against her stomach, soon feeling his warm palm fondle her breast.

<Remove your hand at once!> She orders.

To her surprise, he does—not without a sulk on his lips. 

<You didn't mind my touch last night.> He purrs. 

<Who says I didn’t?> She glowers.

<Your soft _addictive_ moans. > He arches his brow in amusement.

<I did nothing of the sort.> She wouldn’t give herself away _that_ easily.

<It’s endearing how you deny it, but I don’t have a poor memory.> She wants to slap him but refrains from doing so. _< God—you're tight as hell_. _>_

<Don’t!> She raises her hand. She wasn’t cultured in the ways of indecent speak, but she knew enough from their travels what _tight_ meant.

<Deely, that’s a good thing.> He mutters. 

<I don't want to hear it, _thief_. > She annunciates his moniker as if it were a curse word.

<Radjerd,> A warm grin creeps onto his lips as she raises her brows in confusion. <My name is Radjerd.>

<Radjerd? That’s an unusual name.>

<It was my father’s name, although I never met the man. I doubt he knows I exist—despite my own Ma's fondness for him. She says I have my father’s eyes.>

<It should be easy enough to find him then.>

<Believe me, I’ve tried. Reckon it’s a family trait that my own babes will sport.> He laughs.

<Is your mother still alive?>

<Yes, she lives close to The Sands, in a reclusive village. I located her there to keep her safe from my enemies.>

Cordelia should have figured that the man would have enemies, that much was obvious. He was a claimed assassin after all.

<Do you have any siblings?>

He shakes his head. <I had a sister, but she passed away when I was young. It’s been my ma and me ever since.> He curiously looks at her. <How about you?>

<I’m an only child. After my mother gave birth she made it really clear to my father I was the only heir he would have, and he’d have to lie elsewhere should he wish to continue his line.> He respected her mother’s wishes, and instead poured every ounce of his spare time into raising her—spoiling her, and even fighting for legislation to make _her_  be able to rule without a king—until her mother interfered, as she always did. That was information she couldn't afford to share. 

<What a peculiar thing to say?> He laughs again. <This is the same woman who fed you that ridiculous virgin-defiling tale, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve never heard of a noblewoman encouraging her husband to _lie elsewhere. > _

<My mother is full of interesting quips. She made it clear growing up I was a means, expect little freedom beyond teenage hood. The minute I became old enough to wed, she would ensure that my existence would be useful, and, arranged a marriage for me. It was to a man in another kingdom I never even met—until last week. He could have been a nice husband, but he was so much _older_ than I, and I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life taking care of some old man. >

<That would explain why you speak my tongue so well, but why would a noble house send you to a different kingdom? You said yourself that your father cared for you.>

<He does, but my mother calls the shots. He doesn’t have the gall to stand up to her.> 

<A right shame, I can understand why you wanted to escape. Both of us had endured hardships—my ma would have done anything to protect me. It’s a shame that yours won't do the same.>

Cordelia frowns, reflecting upon her situation. Would her mother even care she disappeared, besides for the sake of their kingdom?

<Do you look like her?>

<Apparently we share facial similarities, but my blonde hair and blue eyes come from my father’s side.> According to her father’s tale, her mother had dark hair as a child, but it turned a wispy grey in her mid-twenties—two years after Cordelia was born. It hurt to think it might have been her fault, or, if her mother had secretly blamed her for the colour change. It was becoming, Cordelia liked her hair. It was almost like she was a magical creature in her own right. Speaking of… <Did you inherit your magical abilities from your mother, or father?>

<I never imagined it was from my ma. I’m guessing I inherited it from my dad, unless someone cursed me as a babe.> He chuckles. <But enough about that, I have much better things to entertain my head with.> He guides his arm along her back. His lips are deliciously close to hers. God, if she kissed him now—who knows what might happen. Would she risk it? Her stomach flutters as his lips fall upon hers, her head falling against the pillows. He pulls her shift above her thigh, his hands wandering where she knows they shouldn’t, but it doesn’t bother her. She enjoys the rush, feeling oddly rebellious. 

<Are you ready to experience what it’s like to have a lover?>

<Lover?> She laughs. <Is that what I am to you?>

<You could be.> He laughs softly in her ear. Lover… she liked the sound of that.

<If you give me my things.> She can see the perplex emotions cross his face. To surrender her possessions would mean that he was no longer her captor, that she was free to go as she pleased. Was he willing to let go of his goal?

He furrows his brows as he curses in a language she can barely comprehend. <I’ll hand you your things, but I want something in exchange. A promise that you won't leave me. I promise I’ll be good to you.> His purr is warm, it tickles her ears.

<Will you let this ridiculous murder plot go?> She asks in hope.

<I can’t say that I will—I need that money. But, perhaps when I become wealthy…> He draws on his words. <Nevermind that. We’ve already touched that subject before, and I’m not interested in soiling the mood.>

Cordelia shudders when the man wats her thighs, raising them to meet his. God, was he really going to— _now?_ She feels excitement build up within her gut. <I promise, it'll feel better this time.>

She lets out a gasp when he flips her over, hiking her rear up against his waist. God, this wasn’t what she was expecting! Cordelia whimpers in delight, her thighs exposed to the breezy elements of their room, as his warm hands grab her waist. A sense of warmness enveloped in between her thighs as he moved within her. She would have smacked him for withdrawing if she didn’t hear a voice she hadn't recognized. She gasps, covering her face with her hands. How did they  _not_ hear someone else open the door! 

<Freydis, what on earth are you doing here?> She hears the man scramble, pulling Cordelia onto his lap to hide his obvious nakedness. <I told you, I’d meet you in The Sands when I had proper Intel.>

The woman crosses her arms.

Cordelia sees the woman; her curly dark hair frames her tanned skin incredibly well. She was admirably gorgeous, and, rather shapely. What she'd would give to have curves like that.

<Well, don’t hold back introductions, let me see this darling creature. She won’t know the difference.>

<She can speak our tongue.> He says annoyed. <If you didn’t see that I was in the middle of something.>

<I see you have the gall to say that after sneaking into _my_ room.>

<Since when did you have a room rented here at the Locke Manor?>

<Rented? No, I _own_ this room. > She smiles deviously. <And you’re in it—with this delectable creature.> She sits down, making herself comfortable on one of the plush couch pushed against the wall, unfolding her legs after a minute of silence. <Carry on, I certainly don’t mind watching.>

The woman named Freydis adjusts her collar, unbuttoning the fabric holding her rather large breasts close together. She slips her hand past the belt of her pants—oh _god!_ Cordelia wasn’t sure what on earth this woman was doing, but it couldn’t have been good.

The thief throws his hands over Cordelia’s eyes. <Not in front of her!>

A smirk curves on the woman’s lips before she saunters over to the bed. <Ah, you’re right. Where are my manners? I should ask this pretty little angel what she’d like.> She smiles, twisting a strand of the princess’ blonde hair around her finger. <You know, I have a thing for you Weltish types. With fair hair comes naivete. And don’t look so shamed my dear, the only thing you should regret is deciding to sleep with that fool of a man.>

Cordelia blushes, confused about the pangs of delight she feels. It had to be a curse. Cordelia would be lying—considerably—if she didn’t say that she was the least bit curious about the woman’s proposition…

<No need to have a heart attack on my account.> Freydis giggles. <I won't force myself on you—I have respect.> She glares at the dark-haired man.

Radjerd raises his hands in the air. <I did nothing of the sort. She was the one who dragged me in here.>

<Like she’d be able to do such a thing—or would.>

<You’d be surprised.> 

<If you're going to mope, at least put your trousers back on.> Freydis waves a hand, dismissing him from the conversation. To Cordelia's surprise, she hears the sound of rustling behind her—he had obeyed her without question. <Darling, your skin is so smooth—like you’re royalty.> She raises a brow as she leans in closer. <How on _earth_ did Radjerd convince you to lie with him? >  Cordelia freezes as she feels the woman’s warm chest upon her own. Why did St. Antillans and being so deviously attractive… She hovers near Cordelia’s lips, but studies her face dutifully.

<I can see you’re interested, but something’s holding you back.> She lifts a manicured black brow before cluing into the situation. <Don’t tell me that Radjerd was your first—for the love of it all…>

<If you’d give me a chance to speak, I’d be able to explain myself.> Cordelia growls, not appreciating the circumstance she was in.

<You weren’t complaining when we were together, Freydis.> Radjerd mutters under his breath.

<That was years ago, I was young and stupid.> Freydis winks.

<And last week?>

<Drunk and horny.> She shrugs. <It happens.>

Cordelia flushes at the implication—these two have _slept_ together? She wants to hide under the silk satin sheets once more to cover her embarrassment, and now, shame. She had lain with a taken man. God, she was officially a mistress!

<Don’t give her the wrong idea—it’s bad enough that her own kind had filled her head with horror stories about sex—>

<That was meant to be confidential!> Cordelia raises her voice. It was her own fault for being so open with the man in her first place, but that didn’t give him the right to share what she had told him!

<Yeah, _confidential. > _Freydis goads.

<He also didn’t tell me the two of you were together.> Cordelia narrows her eyes at the thief.

She jumps when Freydis bursts out into laughter. <You’re kidding—god, Radjerd and I have a run in here or there but we haven’t been committed to each other in years!> She drapes an arm around the shirtless man; Cordelia only realizes how tall the woman is compared to the thief, standing only a few inches below him. She pats him on the chest. <He’ll always be my number two.>

He lets out an unimpressed _thanks_.

<If you’re really into him, he’s all yours. I’ll keep my distance—I understand you Weltish types are quite traditional with your partners.>

<I have no claim on him!> Cordelia hotly announces.

<I see, maybe I was wrong about Weltish women then. I have to say, I’m impressed. Maybe the three of us could have some fun, or—I could make things more interesting and boot him out of here.> She winks again.

As intrigued as Cordelia was with the woman’s proposition, she holds her ground. <At the moment I’m impressed with _neither_ of you.>

Freydis smirks in response. <How hoity. I got to say that’s kind of hot.> Cordelia doesn’t ignore the glance she shoots in the thief’s direction. He smiles, agreeing with her.

<As fun as the banter is, I have to ask. What are you doing here? I thought I was the one who was instructed to infiltrate Wellspring?>

<You took too long. Radjerd, unlike you, I’ve been surveying the area instead of banging my brains out.> She crosses her arms. <It turns out the Princess has been kidnapped—and not by one of our hands.> She shakes her head dismissively. <Damn Delteans got to her first I bet.>

God, _another_ faction was after her?! Cordelia debates sliding under the sheets. She could vomit with this newfound knowledge…  

<I told you I was handling it. I found Deely at a tavern and she agreed to help me since I can’t speak Weltish. She said she'd help me find the princess.>

<Is that your name? That sounds delightfully common for a treasure such as yourself—> She pauses unexpectedly. <Radjerd, where did you find _Deely?_ >

<I just said, at a tavern inside the Wellspring Gates. Why?>

Freydis eyes the girl up and down. <A virgin blonde named Deely… Something doesn’t sit right here.> Her warm sea-blue eyes turn cool when she lifts the sheets from Cordelia’s waist. <The way you’re gripping that blanket doesn’t ease my suspicion.>

Cordelia peeps. 

<Where are your clothes?>

Cordelia points to the mound on the floor—which Freydis delicately picks up. <What a luxurious gown you have.>

<It’s only a day dress—> Cordelia slips out before slapping her hands over her mouth.

<God.> She presses her fingers between her brows. <Radjerd…>

<Look, she had a bag of goods on her person. I was bringing her to The Sands, and we’d have been faster if Deely didn’t take her sweet time around the knights.>

<I swear, you’re as handsome as you are stupid.> She frowns deeply. <Sweetie, the only reason you’ve lasted as long as you have is because our dear comrade is incompetent.>

<I don’t understand…> Cordelia speaks quietly.

<I think you do.> She raises an eyebrow. <Not that I blame you. If I were in your shoes, I’d do any favour to stay alive.>

Her steel-blue eyes vibrate in fear.

<What do you mean, _stay alive?_ >

<Who you found isn’t Deely, it’s Princess Cordelia.> She says with an accusatory tone. <And like the moron that you are, you brought her to a public place. We can’t do a damn thing to her here, or we’re fucked.>

<The Princess?> He says in disbelief. <No, that’s impossible. I would have known.>

<No, you wouldn’t have.> She rolls her eyes.

<He’s right, I’m not the Princess—I’m some noblewoman who ran away from home!>

<Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, I’m no fool.> Disappointment laces her stare. <Although it’s a shame, I was excited to steal you away from Raddy boy…>

<Why wait?> Cordelia in panic slips out of her shift, <You said yourself that I look tasty, so taste me!> This was the most uncharacteristic thing she had ever done, but she was desperate. 

Both Freydis and Radjerd gawk at the bare Princess, only partially covered by her long hair. 

<Honey, your desperation makes it even more obvious that you’re who we're looking for.> She shakes her head.

<No—I’m just a common mistress, that’s how I make a living!> She's grasping at straws.

<It’s not.> Freydis parts Cordelia’s hair so it covers her exposed breast. <I’d spare your life if I had any other choice, but Radjerd and I lived in poverty way too long for us to ignore your existence. You’re too valuable to us.>

Tears well up in the Princess’ eyes as her lip quivers. She had humiliated herself—and was scheduled to die. Freydis hands her the shift she had thrown on the ground.

<Wait, how do you _know_ she’s the Princess? >

<Arranged marriage, fancy clothes, the fact that she said her name was Deely, evasion from the knights—may I go on? I’m sure if I looked in that fancy satchel of hers that I’d find some delightful treasures too.>

Cordelia slips her shift back on as the two converse, her tears momentarily blinding her. She knows they weren’t much use. If the thief named Radjerd wasn’t going to kill her, Freydis would. Cordelia surveys the room, eying her best possible opportunity to escape. A large window was positioned near the back of the room, barely covered by satin red curtains. The candleholder on the dresser looked like it bared weight—she could use it to escape she acted now. Taking a leap of faith, Cordelia bolts in the direction of the dresser, Freydis catches onto her plan immediately. The tanned woman yells at Radjerd to stop her, but his violet eyes stare in confusion—he believed Freydis but he couldn’t bring himself to attack her. She curses, almost grabbing the girl’s ankle. Cordelia takes the brass candleholder and smashes it against the window, it hardly makes a dent—impossible! It was her unfortunate luck that the glass was so damn sturdy.

Cordelia had little chance—she had to do whatever she could to escape. Closing her eyes, she charges shoulder first towards the window—she had to try. Her long, gorgeous hair would be her downfall—she’s yanked backwards, instantly restrained as she musters the loudest scream she can. She’s quickly muffled by the woman’s hand. She flails under Freydis’ grip, but the woman was too strong. Radjerd pauses, paralyzed in confusion. Freydis muffles under her breath as she pulls out her knife—she was going to make quick work of her.

<Come here and help me—she won’t stay still!>

Cordelia’s pleading eyes aren’t lost on the man who stares helplessly at the situation. Gritting his teeth together, he turns away.

<Help me, _now!_ We’ve worked too hard to fail!>

Cordelia wouldn’t make this easy. She flails her legs, irritating Freydis’ position.>

Cordelia’s muffled scream vibrates against Freydis’ hand when she forcibly inches Cordelia’s chin up, the cool tip of the blade is felt beneath her chin. Holding her neck in place, Freydis angles her wrist to make the sweeping cut against her throat—no, she falls limp on Cordelia’s chest. Radjerd lifts Freydis off of the blonde.

<My spell will only work for a short time, we got to go before she wakes up!> So the woman wasn’t dead… Radjerd takes the candleholder Cordelia previously used and smashes it against the window three times—it barely cracks. Using Cordelia’s idea from earlier, he chucks his shoulder into the glass, it cracks more. He tries again as Cordelia is silent from shock; feeling the harsh impact of the large glass window break before he helps her through the remains. He lifts her up, sprinting towards the first instance of cover they can find.

It was her only chance at survival.  


	7. Chapter 7

The sun shines brightly in the sky, not a cloud to be seen. Cordelia could have been grateful that it didn’t rain, but she chooses to sulk. Inches away from death, she feels she deserves that right. Cordelia shivers, embarrassed at all the leering stares she got from passersby. She was mere seconds from death, but her thoughts linger on her bare thighs—and her cream coloured shift. Not to mention the man carrying her on her back was only wearing a pair of trousers. She was thankful the material covered her modesty, her cheeks hot from her ill-thinking. She had stripped for her killer—using her body as a distraction, which, didn’t work on the dark-haired woman as much as she had hoped. Never in a millennium did Cordelia anticipate stooping to such low levels of desperateness… She prays that her hair covers the parts that her shift doesn’t. Her matted, distressed hair dangles down her back like a matted makeshift rope. It’s embarrassing—she’s dirty, smelly, and probably sticky after the events of last night… God, she hopes she hadn’t made a mistake lying with that man. Her body doesn’t think so, as a shift is the only thing that seems to remain between her and this man—she despises that the thought makes her gut churn with joy…

The thief had barely said a word to her, except for allowing her on his back, to protect her bare feet from the branches and sticks below. She should have been thankful for his quick thinking, appreciating that she was still alive… For however long, she wasn’t sure. This meant she couldn’t afford to get on his bad side, no matter what outlandish desire she had… Or how bad he deserved a verbal lashing.

A half hour had passed, the thief suddenly stops walking, letting her down. He turns around, suddenly tugging on her wrist—pulling her behind a large oak tree. It wasn’t until that moment that she heard the clank of armoured men travelling through the pathway. Cordelia is surprised she hadn’t noticed the sound herself, then again, she's used to hearing the sound of armour ever since she was a child—watching her father hack at wooden posts—which now, she wasn’t sure if it was to relieve stress, or, keep his swordsmanship up. Other knights would often join him, the delight in watching her father parry with them excited her core. It didn’t inspire her to take up the sword, but it was delightful entertainment. A longing pang swirls within her—this was the first time she felt homesick since her escape.

It was natural that the thief named Radjerd was weary of the armoured knights—he was an assassin for hire. Another harrowing thought—what if he kept her alive only to be of use—in his bed! She pales, gripping onto the hem of her shift.

Cordelia crosses her arms, raising her chin. <You’ve been quiet all morning, the silence is deafening.> That wasn’t _exactly_ what she meant by reasonable.

He remains quiet, his eyes don’t leave hers.  

<What can I say? I betrayed my closest companion, cheated myself out of instant riches… all because you put a fucking spell on me.>

Cordelia did no such thing. She had only given him her company, mostly on his lips—and more recently—in his bed. Was that what he had meant? Now that he had let that little detail slip, she would keep it in mind for later.

She speaks calmly, <I believe spells are your specialty, not mine.>

He doesn’t appreciate her joke.

<For crying out loud!> He hisses. <You’re the god-damn princess, and I just whisk you away from the target. If I had any sense I would have brought my weapons—and your jewels—but your blasted safety was all I could prioritize. Now I’m stuck carting you around until I know what to do with you—dammit I should have let Freydis have her way! I don’t have my own head screwed on straight.>  

<I’m glad you don’t have your head _screwed on straight_ , as it were, and am quite happy to be alive.> 

<You being _alive_ means I don’t get my reward. > He mumbles gruffly, <It means I’m still poor. Don’t look so pleased, there’s got to be some way I can use you.>

Her thought from earlier resurfaces. The best way she can remain diplomatic is to bite her tongue. He might not have had his weapons, but he could still use his weird mind powers on her. Speaking of which…  

<What on earth did you do to the woman back there—it wasn’t the same as you did on the spiders, because you said she’d wake up after only a few minutes?>

<It was a sleeping spell.>

<You know how to put people to sleep?> She gasps in awe, even though she shouldn’t have. That meant he could easily put her under at any moment. His flat stare indicates that he’s noticed.

<I’m not going to use it on you if that’s what you’re wondering.>

<I suppose you said you wouldn't kill me.>

<Not now, no. Unless you give me a reason.>

She changes the subject back to the woman at the Locke Manor. <You think Freydis won’t get arrested? I didn’t scream quietly you know.>

<They don’t know Freydis’ voice by heart. They’ll just assume that any woman’s scream would have been her own. The worst they’ll assume back at the Locke Manor is that she got robbed, not that she tried to kill anyone.>

A fair point. Cordelia rubs the tips of her fingers gently. <I suppose I should thank you for your noble sacrifice.> 

It catches him off guard, his violet eyes intrigued with her expression.

<You’re welcome.> He nods with a smile, <Deely.>

<It’s Cordelia. You might as well call me by my true name.>

<I prefer  _Deely_ over  _Queen Cordelia the 1 st. _It suits you.>

<Suits me?> A commoner name suited her? Cordelia shakes her head in disbelief. <I highly doubt it.>

He further adds, <Calling you Cordelia would land you right back home …which, I assume you weren’t lying about your fiancé, as that would make him the king of my lands.>

<You’re correct. I wasn’t interested in being a bargaining chip for my mother’s nefarious plans.>

<That’s an interesting choice of words.> His eyebrows raise. 

<I don’t even know—it has to be nefarious if she wanted me out of the palace.> She slumps her shoulders. Her stomach pangs in hunger, but that doesn’t stop her speculative nature. <But what do you get out of this ...saving me?>

His frown is deep. <I don’t know yet. We have no money, not even shoes to our name unless we want to return to the scene of the crime. But…> His eyes light in inspiration. <Maybe there’s something _you_ can do. I saw that you can dance. >

<They raised me to dance since birth.> Cordelia says with gratitude. 

<I may have an idea, but we need to the border first.> He ponders, staring at her intently.

<I’m not whoring myself out if that’s what you’re thinking.> She crosses her arms.

<Don’t get me wrong. I’m not letting any man touch you.>

<Or woman?> She raises her brow, recalling her interlude with Freydis.

<Or woman.> The thief repeats after her. <I have something a little more _dignified_ in mind for you.>

He weaves her from behind the trees, bending his knees so she can hop onto his back. She secures her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around his torso.  <And I suppose you’re not going to divulge that information until it’s too late for me to say no.>

<You owe me for saving your life. I’m in a steep hole thanks to you.> He grumbles.

< What’s your relationship with her, anyway. She’s not your wife, but is she your lover?> Cordelia knows she need not name the woman in reference.

<We used to be, but more importantly, we are lifelong friends. We grew up together in the Slums of Frizbane. Freydis had a family but they abandoned her when she was little—my mother took her in after my sister passed away—she was hoping we’d marry and aspire to live a pauper’s life, but that was never our way.> Cordelia notes that his voice sounds smoother when referencing his past. <I thought I’d do anything for her, Freydis, I mean. Well, until I knock her out with one of my forbidden spells. He grimaces. <God, what have I done… She’s going to murder me.>

<I’m grateful you did, even if she’s going to murder you.> Cordelia attempts to soften the mood with a joke.

He laughs softly. <Before I get murdered, I’d love to have one last kiss from those soft lips of yours.>

Cordelia doesn’t stop her reflexes, smacking him upside the head.

 

Cordelia is in awe when they reach the sparkling sands of St. Antilla; it’s magnificent! She's intrigued by how the environment could change at an instant—it’s so much hotter here than back at home. They had snuck past the border—Cordelia didn’t understand why the thief named Radjerd didn’t put the guards to sleep—he explained that it takes a great amount of energy to conjure the spell perfectly, and it’s only in moments of peril he could pull the spell off. Interesting, he forgot to mention that in their earlier conversation. Maybe he was afraid she would see him as weak? No, that made little sense. He wouldn’t have told her if that was the case.

<They don’t call it _The Sands_ for nothing. Now, let’s get you to _Shastacan’s Delights_. > With a name like that, she could only fear what kind of _delights_ she would face. The mischievous glint in his violet eyes unsettles her. What exactly was she signing up for, allowing a man like him to take charge of her situation? Right, because he had the power to conjure at will—even if he needed a great deal of emotion to do it. If he hated her enough, he would end her life. Cordelia had to be careful.

The thief parts a beaded curtain in front of a clay-based building about three stories high, with decorative stained glass windows—likely meant to showcase the _delights_ the place was advertising.  When she steps inside—wow—the temperature drops immediately. She feels a slight chill up her legs, but that wasn’t a surprise, considering she was naked underneath her shift. God, what she would give for a proper change of clothes—and a soak in some hot water.

<Follow my lead.> He mutters as he walks up to the establishment attendant— a very attractive woman leans suggestively on the countertop; her breasts mould to the surface perfectly. Cordelia can’t draw her eyes away—they were so _big!  G_ old sequins lined the hem, complimenting the red fabric they were stitched onto. The sequins glittered from catching the light on the lantern beside her—which didn’t help the woman hide her chest size. Cordelia fears that might be the point—which leads to the question—where the _hell_ had he brought her?!

<How may I help you, sweetie?> The brunette woman smiles, her green eyes sparkled with delight.

<I’m here to see Alteus.>

<Before I call him… You’re Radjerd, right?>

He nods.

<And who’s this delectable number?> The woman steps from behind the counter, eying Cordelia intensely. Now she sees that the woman’s billowed pants matched the texture of her shirt perfectly—her well-toned midriff exposed for the world to see. Her thoughts go wild with speculation, resulting in one consistent point—he brought her to a whorehouse!

<My, she’s so pale—is she from Wellspring? She has to be!>

<Yes, she’s from Wellspring.> The thief confirms. 

<I hear they’re so sheltered—especially their women. Are you sure you should have brought her here?>

<Wherever I go, _my wife_ comes with me.> Cordelia almost chokes—however—recognizes the brilliance of his words. No one would speculate the Princess would have married a common thief, especially dressed in nothing but her shift—which she’s surprised the woman didn’t ask about. Or, maybe it was normal around these parts to wear as little amount of clothing that one could get away with.

<I see, but was it smart to bring her here? You know Weltans aren’t welcome to self-expression, like us Antillans.> She winks at Cordelia. <The poor thing probably doesn’t even understand what I’m saying.>

<She does understand and can speak it too so say nothing rude. Trust me, I’ve been lashed by her tongue more times than I can count.> His grin implies that her words aren’t the only thing he’s insinuating. She wouldn't bite back—she's not about to be goaded by him again.

<I will grab Alteus immediately.> The woman garbed in silks saunters from the room—did all women in The Sands walk like that? Or was it the empowered ones? It bothers Cordelia that she’s no better than the thief, also charmed by her curves. Now that the two were alone, she could scold him--even if his plan is brilliant…

Cordelia hisses discreetly, <Your _wife?! > _

<Listen, this is the only way that the others won’t touch you. You’re only to be a stage dancer, nothing else. No private dances, no touching.>

<You're whoring me out as a stage performer?> She growls.

<It’s great money, and I’d do it myself, but I'm so uncoordinated that I’d fall off of the stage—probably break an expensive prop I'd have to pay for.> Now that’s a show she’d pay good money to see.

<I’m not wearing a skimpy outfit like her!> She's referring to the woman at the counter. 

<You won’t have to. They’ve got plenty of outfits you can wear.>

Cordelia frowns, understanding the predicament. She couldn’t be too rowdy here either—one wrong move, and he could blurt out her identity, and, he could easily split the profits with anyone who kept his secret—meaning he could kill her in this establishment—especially if his _presumed_ friend owns the place.

<Follow me!> Cordelia hears the woman shout, the thief intertwines his fingers through hers—her skin tingles at the contact. She had to keep her blush under control. She leads them down a narrow hallway, carefully passing dancers of both genders dressed in glittery costumes. She blushes, when she pictures the scenarios. To dance in front of a group of sexually charged men? What would stop any from pouncing on her as they saw fit? There were so many uncertainties to this entire plan… She wasn’t sure what to do. They are brought to a small, dark office lined with books as far as the eye can see. They soon linger on a handsome man, with polished skin and curly brown tresses. Was he too St. Antillan? Did all the people here have to be so attractive?

<Radjerd, It’s been a while.> His eyes linger on Cordelia intently. <I see the lady’s eying my vast array of literature.> His stare is smoldering—making Cordelia flush. 

<I wish it were on friendly terms, but I need to ask a favour.>

Alteus folds his hands together, gently resting his elbows on his desk. <What can I do for you, old friend?>

<My wife is looking for work as a dancer.>

<Your wife? Goodness me, congratulations!> He clasps his hands together as he steps away from his desk, affectionally patting his friend on the back. <I assume the two of you eloped, considering your lack of dress.>

<How’d you guess?> He chuckles.

<I doubt her parents would have taken delight in her Antillan husband to be.>

<Exactly, which is why we need your help.>

<So she wishes to be a dancer? First of all, can she dance?> He raises a brow.

<She’s been brought up by noble folks who have taught her the way of the ballroom, and whatever kind of dances nobles do in their spare time. I assume her footwork won’t need much correcting, but she will need training from your dancers to understand what the crowd will expect from her.>

<Ah, so she’s Weltish. I should have assumed by her colouring.> His laugh is heavenly.

<And she’s not to be touched by anyone—even if they wish to have a private dance.> The thief crosses his arms.  

<If that is her wish. We’re not discriminatory here, but if the lady wishes to be free of contact from our customers, I will gladly oblige to that. She’s a foreigner, and will attract those with fine taste just on her looks alone.>

Cordelia feels better knowing she's spared from the grubby hands of the St. Antillan populace.

<I think I have the perfect outfit for her.>

<She’s Weltish, so careful on the exposed skin.> 

Alteus laughs. <She can’t be too traditional if she married you.> He smiles, as he leans down to her level. <And what’s your name?>

<De—el.> She pretends to cough.

<Deel?> He says, understandably confused. Deel wasn’t a real name, but if Freydis could put Deely and Cordelia together, then her last-minute Deel would have to do.

<Yes, it was my mother’s choosing. My father would have picked Calista—a much nobler name in his opinion, but you know how strong-willed mothers can be.> It was a true story—minus the noble part. Her mother deemed the name Calista unsuitable for a princess. Dammit, why didn’t she go with Calista instead of Deel? It was too late to take back her words now…

<Oh do I ever. My wife wouldn’t let me name our daughter either. Said it wasn’t my right since I didn’t give birth to her. I can understand that logic.> He chuckles that heavenly chuckle again. <Alright Deel, come this way—and you, stay here. We have a lot of catching up to do.> Alteus lures Cordelia out of the room, leading her to where she assumes the other dancers are.

<I would love to understand why you’d marry a fool like Radjerd?>

<Love is blind.> She responds. It seemed like a good enough excuse, and her mother had used it when commonly when her father had embarrassed the Royal Family at ballroom gatherings. It was never offensive, just misplaced manners and the one time he had stepped on her mother’s toes while dancing… Now she was getting off topic.

<It’d have to be.> He smiles, patting Cordelia on the shoulder. <Now, our girls will outfit you in something much more appropriate.> He snaps his fingers when he enters the changing room, Cordelia sees a vast array of colours/sequins swish by her. There were a _lot_ of dancers here, much to her surprise. The place looked much smaller outside.

Most of the dancers stand in a line, their eyes locked on their boss as he snaps his fingers a second time.

<I’d like you all to meet our new hire, Mrs. Deel Laurius. You’ll show her the ropes, what dances are popular with our guests, and most of all, treat her with her respect. She is my dear friend’s wife, and she is _not_ to be touched by _any_ guest, you hear me? >

Deel _Laurius?_ She inwardly groans at the name.

A nod of agreement circled through the room.

<Excellent. Now, get Deel cleaned up and in something dazzling. We want to enhance her natural beauty.> He claps, before swiftly leaving the room.

She's immediately rounded up by a group of women. One even takes the dastardly actions of lifting her shift, gasping when she notices that she’s bare underneath.

<Please stop that.> She slaps the woman’s fingers off. She was proud that she didn’t chew the woman’s head off.

<My, your husband must be perverted to expose you like this out in the open.> A dark-haired woman speaks.

Cordelia shudders, <He’s got _acquired_ tastes. >

<I should slap him.> The second girl says, her red lipstick matching her fiery red hair. She crosses her arms in detest. <I hate men who embarrass their wives on purpose.>

Cordelia wishes to correct the woman. That wasn’t _exactly_ what happened, per se, but she thinks it amusing that the thief named Radjerd was getting as much heat as he was. Serves him right for calling them married in the first place…

<At any rate, let’s get you showered up. C’mon.> The red-haired girl leads Cordelia down another slim hall, mist gracing her skin with each step. Multicoloured tiles don the walls brilliantly, like a mosaic painting. The area had windows on the ceiling to provide ample lighting, which made sense in a large bathing hall like this one.

Cordelia is shocked and appalled to see bare-breasted women walk around—and even more shocked to see men—and the bits they contained. If she hadn’t experienced what she did with the thief last night—she might have passed out from shock. She might anyway, involuntary of course.

<No need to shield your eyes, sweetie. No promiscuity happens here—it’s completely relaxed.>

Cordelia is red from embarrassment. <I know… It’s still a shock to see so many naked people at once.>

<I understand, but first, we got to strip from our cloths.> She points Cordelia to the laundry area. <Put your belongings here; for the time being, we’ll outfit you in something dazzling.> Interesting, they referred to clothes as cloths. She supposed it was the terminology she had to get used to, especially if she was to survive in The Sands.

She sighs, peeling off her dirty shift—the moisture makes the fabric cling to her body—it feels disgusting. She didn’t want to imagine how grimy she must have looked—only paying attention to that fact now she was bare. <Perfect.> She grins, giving Cordelia the once-over. <We’ll get you cleaned right up, and fix that messy hair of yours.> 

She watches as the woman strips down from her flashy outfit to her bare skin—why did these women have to be so beautiful? Cordelia feels inadequate, the urge to cover herself was strong.

<Come, the bath awaits.>

No phrase she could hear could be more delicious. It was about time she had a nice soak.

She deserved it.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of Cordelia’s day was decided for her—she was instructed to follow a woman around she had hardly could pronounce the name of, and definitely needed another tour to get her surroundings in her memory. She was dressed in a thin veiled green dress, which she had switched out of in favour of this short, silky blood red chemise. It reminds her of the silky bedsheets that the thief and her shared—her last night of peace. Well, not really, she ponders. That night she was discovered—and the next morning—almost killed. She slips under the bedsheets, tucking her neatly tied braid behind her shoulder. She was relieved that her hair had been clean and free of knots—braiding it would keep the tangles out while she sleeps.

She's startled when the door suddenly opens.

The thief named Radjerd’s eyes scan the room, warming when they settle on her. He slips off his newly acquired beige vest and pulls the cover from the side, inviting himself into her space.

<What do you think you’re doing!?> Cordelia pulls her covers to her chin when the thief invites himself into her bed. She braces her hand against his chest to keep him there.

He sighs—heavily. <Alteus put us in the same room because he _thinks_ we’re married. And, we want to keep him thinking that way.>  

<We are  _not_ married.> She glares at him. <Go sleep somewhere else.>

He looks around the room. Cordelia notes that there isn’t much here except for a couple of chairs and a nightstand.

<You’ve slept on the floor before. Do it again.> She commands.

<I’m not a viper, Deely. You’re not going to be poisoned by sleeping next to me. In fact, I recall you snuggled right along this side as I woke this morning.> He pats his chest for emphasis.

<I know, and that was different. You didn’t know I was the princess then.>

<What difference does that make? If you don’t trust me after I saved you from Freydis, I don’t know what will…>  

Yes, she knows he had saved her life—but the thief’s actions had put her there in this very position. Cordelia turns to her side, resigning her thoughts. The least she could do was let him have a comfortable rest. <Very well, but stay on your side of the bed.>  

<We don’t get to talk about this afternoon? I’m quite curious about your day.>

<What of it? I had a bath, then I was following some woman around getting to know the place. The dance hall, the costume room, the sauna, what else is there to discuss?>

<You don’t wish to know what I did?>

She lies on her back, a sigh escapes her gritted teeth. <What did you do?>

His laugh isn’t helping her mood. <I visited old friends on the south side. A very friendly bunch of individuals—that you very well _cannot_ meet. I told them that you were a very shy woman since Alteus told them I was married, they wanted me to introduce you to them and telling them that you were wary of new people was the only way I could keep them at bay. >

<I assume I can’t meet them because they will discover my identity.> She didn’t mean to sound downcast.

<I didn’t expect you to be disappointed.>

<I’m not. Now let me sleep.>  She turns her shoulder away from him.

A despondent sign leaves the thief’s lips. <If that’s your wish.> He rustles in place, getting comfortable. <You smell nice.>

Cordelia sits up, taking a long look at the thief beside her.

<I didn’t realize compliments offended you.> He shrugs.

Cordelia narrows her eyes. <They don’t— _you_ do. >

<We’re back to this, _again? > _He grumbles. <I hardly think I deserve this response. I’ve done everything I can to spare you from being discovered!> He lowers his voice to a whisper. <And all I get is your sharp tongue as thanks.>

Cordelia hates to admit it; he’s right. She grips the covers, remembering what she promised herself—she had to make nice. Just because she felt like her regular self didn’t mean she could act like it. She couldn’t afford to.

<You’re right. I apologize for my rudeness.> She can’t help the speed of her voice, it was tough to admit when she was wrong. <I hope I didn’t offend you too greatly—I appreciate that you didn’t kill me.>

He eyes her playfully. <There’s a better way you can apologize.>

Cordelia rolls her eyes. She knows him well enough to know what he wants. And, it wouldn’t kill her to do it—she _did_ like kissing him. Without saying so, she takes the initiative, scooting towards him. Surprised and elated, he wraps his arms around her waist as her lips meet his. The thief’s fluffy hair brushes against her cheek when he leads her on top of him.

<Now that’s better,> he whispers against her bottom lip as his warm, clean hands move down her waist, slowly moving his hands underneath her chemise. <If you’ll allow me, I can help you have a restful sleep.>

 

A knock on the wooden door wakes Cordelia up from her slumber.

She didn’t have time to enjoy the memory of her night—her knees still quivering with the delights he bestowed upon her. He took much pleasure in satisfying her; he was okay with keeping it to that. Even though Cordelia was more than ready, the thief had denied her. She was a princess, first and foremost. He might have taken her virtue, but if he had known she was royalty—he would have thought twice. As disappointed as Cordelia was, she could respect his decision.

Cordelia steps out of bed, arranging herself accordingly. She doesn’t want to allude to any funny business—although her legs were indeed wobbly from the thief’s _magic hands_ , as she called them in her head.

She’s surprised when Alteus greets her on the other side. She shouldn’t have been—he owned this establishment after all.

Alteus grins, <I hope I’m not interrupting anything.>

<You’re not. He was just—oh GOD!> She shields her eyes, encouraging Alteus to do the same when she saw just how _revealed_ the resident in her bed was.

<Now how did an innocent girl like you run into a man like this? Granted, how soon did the two of you marry?> His suspicion raises when he examines how red her face was.

<We’re newlyweds if you must know.> She says, keeping up with the thief’s lie. <I’m still not used to seeing him…well… _you know_. >

<Ah, he’s got his work cut out for him it seems. Now, Deel, the other dancers are in the hall. You should join them for their morning soak. Cleanliness is key, after all.>  

<Of course.> She averts her eyes as the thief covers himself with his blanket. <I wanted to thank you again for letting me and …my husband stay here.>

<You’re welcome. I’ll keep him company while you make yourself familiar with our dancers.>

Cordelia does as told, keeping her fake smile plastered to her face until she closes the door. It soon falls into a speculative frown. Where was the bath house again?

***

Radjerd groans, bemoaning his friend. His smiling face was the last thing he wanted to see. The cocky bastard was sitting in a chair near the door, leaning his arms on the back. He tilts his chin forward, no doubted roaring to hear what had transpired last night. Much to Alteus’ disappointment, he wasn’t going to find out.

<I’m curious, how did you find such a beauty in Wellspring? Moreover, how on _earth_ did you get her to marry you? >

<I’ve made an honest woman out of her, nothing to it.>

<I see… Despite your unstable career—she’s either desperate to escape from her home, or, is in the family way.> He raises a playful brow. <Or is it both?>

<She wanted to escape from her overbearing parents—I assure you, it’s not the latter.> He shakes his head dismissively.

<It’ll happen sooner than you think—it took no time with my wife.>

Radjerd frowns, eager to change the subject. <I didn’t expect to be lectured so early …or whatever the time may be. What do you want?>

<It’s not a matter of what I might want, old friend, but the story you told me about _Deel_ doesn’t add up. There’s no way that you and she found love spontaneously. Tell me what happened, I might be able to help.>

<I don’t think you can.> The thief narrows his eyes as he looks at the wooden tile. <I don’t think this is something anyone can help me fix.>

<What do you mean Radjerd, you’re worrying me.>

<She—was a robbery gone wrong— _horribly wrong_. >

<I see, you stole her belongings, then she fell in love with you?> He chuckles.

Radjerd winces, Not realizing how close Alteus was to the truth. Except for the falling in love part—Deely made it clear he wasn't her ideal mate.

<Your silence says it all. I don’t know if you’re aware of the story of my wife and I, but it’s a similar tale.> His laugh is oddly infectious. <But I didn’t think you’d marry anyone until you had accumulated more wealth.> 

<Things happen.> He sighs. <Deel agreed to help me make an honest living. Since I am of little income, she proposed that she get a job at your establishment, while I searched for honest work downtown.>

<I do hope she wanted to become a dancer, my dear friend. If I learned that you forced that precious girl into this trade—I will teach you a lesson. I’m not interested in exploiting women for their husbands’ personal gain. And…> Alteus looks Radjerd up and down slowly. <You’d do just fine on the stage. We’d have to shave you up first of course—I like smooth dancers on my stage.>

<I’m not a dancer—never have, never will be.> He sticks his chin up, a trait he had taken from Deely herself. <Deel wanted to be self-sufficient—she wouldn’t let me provide alone.>

<Your wife is the sole reason you’ll have food on your plate. What would your ma say?> The dark-haired man chuckles.

<I’m positive that you didn’t wake me up just to take jabs at my marriage. What did you want to talk about?>

Alteus leans back as he folds his arms. <No luck on capturing the princess then… When I heard that she went missing, I thought it had been you succeeding in your mission. Call me disappointed that isn’t the case.>

Radjerd grumbles, reminded of his failure. <She’s a bloody princess, the whole damn town of Wellspring would have kept an eye on her.>

<Considering that the girl’s still missing, I’m betting that the Deltaeans got their hands on her. I suppose we’ll be without a Queen yet again. That’s not going to bode well for King Douchebag.> His brown eyes narrow. <Or for you and Freydis. It’s a shame you didn’t find your lady until after the mission. Then you could provide her with a proper home.>

Radjerd’s nerves spike. How long would it be before someone called them out on their charade? It was clear that Alteus didn’t know what the princess looked like. If he found out Radjerd was risking his friend’s establishment like this… His stomach drops. If Alteus was put at risk because of his lie—no, that wouldn’t happen. No one would think the Princess of Wellspring to dance upon the stages of Shastican’s Delight.

<I just hope that they don’t torture the girl, you know what kind of reputation they have.>

<I’m well aware.> Radjerd folds his arms. They were cold, hard killers who would torture their victims—and wanted Radjerd to join their ranks. Of course the thief refused—he and Freydis had killed when the price is right—but their victims were taken fast, and clean. This wasn’t the line of work either wanted to pursue—but Radjerd’s talent was well versed here. He never had to lay a hand on his victims—mostly. He still wasn’t in full control of his gift—which is where Freydis came in. She would finish the job…

Guilt fills his gut, he didn’t want to betray his oldest friend. But, he couldn’t let her kill Deely—there had to be another way. He could only stall progress for so long… He’s made up his mind—as soon as Deely had made them enough money, they would leave posthaste. He knew it would be a matter of time before Freydis would catch a whiff of their trail.

***

Cordelia enters the bath-house, freeing her hair from the braid she had slept in. Her hair had to in the best condition each day—not that Cordelia was upset by this—it was a regular tradition at home to have a daily bath. Her maids would find it tiresome that she wanted her hair washed daily, but she preferred it that way. She didn’t like the feeling of when her scalp became oily.

Cordelia promises herself she would behave—she was in no mood for any dastardly conclusions. She enters the room, stripping as she was instructed to do before. She parts her hair in front of her breasts for comfort, still not used to the idea of being exposed to over ten sets of eyes. Approaching the water, she closes her eyes, easing her body into the warm, heated water. She shivers in pleasure, the water easing her muscles Her hair darkens as it hits the water, flowing around her like a mermaid in a fairy-tale book. Unfortunately, her peace doesn’t last long as a curious girl with fiery red hair interrupts her peace and quiet.  

<I’m Lissa.> The red-haired girl smiles Cordelia notes this isn’t the same red-haired woman she met yesterday. Her dark brown eyes seem to uncomfortably stare at her chest. <Are all Weltan girls this small?>

<Pardon me!?> Cordelia covers herself with her arms.

<No, I meant no offense. It’s just—well—a little _unusual. > _

<I’ll have you know I’m an adequate size, thank you very much.> Cordelia grumbles, sticking her chin high up in the air. <Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to bathe in peace.>

<I’m so sorry, that came out all wrong!> She splashes about, her nervous energy annoying Cordelia. <What I meant to say is that it’s unusual for our group, our costumes suit women with bigger assets.> She raises her breasts, squishing them together. <Like this, see?>

Cordelia winces, still getting used to the outgoing nature of this culture. <I get it!>

<Lissa, don’t tease the new one.> A new voice enters the fray, much to Cordelia’s surprise. <If she chose to give us her services, then it’s best that we don’t make her feel inadequate. She’s beautiful just the way she is.> Now Cordelia recognizes the melodic tone. It’s the woman from the reception counter—god, was she really joining them in the bath? Cordelia winces as she can hear the telltale splash of the woman entering the bath.

<Just ignore them, they’re just being gossipy as usual. It’ll pass when the next wind hits.> Her laugh is melodic. <Or they’re jealous. Your husband is quite handsome, well, as handsome as you are beautiful.>

<Melandra, don’t flirt with her. The poor Weltan probably will pass out from embarrassment, before her work has just begun.> Another voice echoes.

<It’s not flirting. I’m just being polite, is all. Nothing wrong with showing courtesy to a lovely woman.> She raises her eyebrows in intrigue. Now I have to say, Radjerd Laurius is quite a handsome man, but he can also be a slippery one. He didn’t force you to marry him, did he?>

<No, _not at all_. It was just …love at first sight—the rarest of circumstances. > Cordelia nervously chuckles.

<Well, whatever your reasons, I can’t judge you. Sometimes having a strong man around makes life less threatening, after all.> She giggles.

<That’s not exactly—> Cordelia stops herself from indulging too much. She didn’t want to let on to these women that she was hiding from her notorious killer, Freydis. It was a bloody good thing that the thief came up with what he did. Or, she’d be in hot water. <Rather, we just have a need to keep each other around.>

<For saying that it was love at first sight, you’re rather vague.>

<Lissa! Leave the poor girl alone. It’s hardly worth giving her a hard time over, don’t you think? ‘Specially when it’s none of your beeswax. Besides, _Deel_ needs to be relaxed if we’re going to teach her all we know. Her first show will be in a week.>

<That long? I was ready to be stage born the next day of training.>

<She’s Weltish.> The splash of water hits the ears of Cordelia as she listens to the counter-girl talk. <She’s hardly ready to understand our customs and curiosities.>

<Maybe not, but we’re going to ensure we make my husband proud.>

Wait, Melandra the counter-girl was his wife?

<You look surprised, dear.> She laughs. <I’ve taken it that he told you about me.>

<He didn’t mention that you worked here. What about your daughter?>

<My daughter is fine.> She laughs, giving her the side-eye. <My ma’s been doing her a lot of good—feeds her better than I can. And before you assume it’s because of our money, no, dear. We’re more than capable, but my ma’s a better cook than I could ever could be.>

<No, it’s not that—you look really good—for just—well, you know what I’m trying to say.> A crimson blush stains her face. She looked amazing for having a baby. It’s one of the things her mother complained about, that having a child ruined her figure. Cordelia didn’t understand why, she was as thin as a post. Her mother had no ounce of fat on her bones.

<I understand—and thank you.> She smiles. <Don’t worry your head over such trivialities, dear. If you want to know my secret, it’s keeping fit, regardless of excuses. My profession deems it, so it comes natural to me.>

<Of course.> Cordelia blurts out.

<I’m not the only one who has a child to support, either. Most of our dancers come from respectable families. I understand to you Weltans that it’s not the noble way of life—not that I’m signaling you out—but I don’t want you judging our type simply because your culture doesn’t understand us.>

<I wasn’t.>

<Glad to hear it.> She pats Cordelia’s shoulder. <Finish up, and then we’ll pick a nice lovely outfit for you. A deep red or royal purple would serve your complexion perfectly, and your hair will be dazzled with jewels. No one need know of your petite-ness.>

Great, now this woman was having a stab at her. Just because she didn’t have big old balloons sewn to her chest didn’t mean she was flat chested. She could cup both with each hand and there was still breast to spare.

<Don’t look so put out—we’ll have you trained and ready to dance within the week—all will be well.>

Cordelia nods. Dancing? How hard could that possibly be?


	9. Chapter 9

Cordelia couldn’t believe a full week of strenuous training had passed—her ankles blistered from the shoes she was expected to wear. They wrapped around her ankles, rubbing against her alabaster skin. Her abdomen, arms and thighs sore from the excessive practice she had to endure. It was torture. As for her nights, she and the thief got closer by name, but she wasn’t comfortable addressing him by it. They spent nights chatting about their days—while she had been busy dancing, he had helped Alteus with repairs around the establishment. She didn’t realize he could repair buildings. Why didn’t he take that up as a job instead? Surely it had to be a lot more rewarding than stealing from others, never mind _killing_ them. Eventually, that led to dining together in their bedroom, sharing stories about the strangeness that were their colleagues.  It felt strange to be looking forward to their dinners alone together—it was like they were becoming friends.

All was well until night struck.  There she’d be, lying alone in her thoughts—what had become of her parents, her father most of all. Had they thought her dead? Serves her mother right for forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want. In fact—she didn’t know what she wanted to do. The thief named Radjerd was kind enough to spare her life, but even he didn’t know what to do. Were they expected to hide out here, forever? She wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted either, to pretend she was married to a man who wouldn’t even lie with her. Cordelia thought she wanted celibacy—but as the nights went on, she grew more frustrated lying next to him. She couldn’t very well _ask_ , he already made his reasoning clear—she was royalty, it wasn’t respectful that he take advantage of her—which she agreed upon—at first. But, what if she wanted to be taken advantage of—no! He did the right thing, eventually opting to sleep on the chair instead. Despite his career path, he was acting like a gentleman—even if her own carnal desires weren’t appreciative of it. Hell, he even stopped kissing her!  

The urge for Cordelia to cover her hands with her face is strong, but she can’t. She was in the bathhouse, readying herself for her final soak before bed. Taking two deep breaths, she slips out of her two-piece purple costume. She unclips the amethyst jewels that decorated her hair, placing them on her folded top. A brief chill hits her when her skin is bare—which, Cordelia never thought she’d get used to. It was easier when everyone else was in the nude. Soon, she wouldn’t give it a second thought.

Her trainer, Branton was in the bath, chatting with Melandra—who became one of her allies during training. Cordelia was grateful for the woman’s support, although, she didn’t understand why her rear had to appear perkier as she danced—that had been her one-way ticket to back pain. Thankfully, that had calmed down as the Melandra taught her stretches before practice.

But one thing she’s not sure she’ll ever get used to—men and women bathing in the same room.

The man’s amber eyes perk up as he sees Cordelia, waving her over. He was well toned—which Cordelia wasn’t surprised about in the slightest—these dancers would need to be fit in order to perform half of their move sets. His usually styled charcoal hair is frayed from the moisture of the room, but it somehow outlined his handsome, clean-shaven face. His skin reminded her of cinnamon, and he smelled just as sweet. She didn’t like to admit it, but any time he had helped her keep her form, a pleasurable twinge would erupt in her gut. Melandra warmly smiles. Her dark hair was worn down, like a raven spreading its wings… She’s gorgeous.

Hell, all St. Antillans were gorgeous.

<I hope I didn’t work you too hard today.> Branton’s calm smile encourages her to flush as he eases out his hand. <I’m impressed with how quickly you’re improving.>

Cordelia takes it without a second thought. She appreciates how gentleman-like he is.

<Yes, Deel is our shining background star.> Melandra muses enthusiastically as she drapes an arm around Cordelia. Given how many times she’s been handled in the last week, she didn’t mind being touched—it was just their way.

<It’s a shame your husband isn’t around to see you dance—you are a marvel to behold.>

<Just because Radjerd’s not around doesn’t mean you can steal her under his nose.>

<And leave a treasure like this behind? The man’s a fool.> His amber eyes sparkle when he compares her to the wares that’d be locked away in underground caves. She can’t help but let out a soft giggle. The way the thief’s been evading her lately, it wouldn’t be so wrong to divide her attention—after all, she wasn’t  _really_  married. 

<He hasn’t left her behind—he’s working with my husband getting the place in tip-top condition.>

<And the bath house? Why hasn’t he joined us here?>

<Well, you have me there.> Melandra scratches her head. Her attention turns to Cordelia. <Did you two have a quarrel?>

<No, he’s always been asleep, or with Alteus— or so he tells me.> She smiles wide—a little too wide, for the woman raises a suspicious brow.

<Forgive my nosiness, it’s none of my business—or yours.> She stares daggers at the man. He shrugs as a response.

<Do you think Alteus will give us the _Ruby Nectar_ like he did last time? >

<Considering how half the house was in song, I doubt it. The roseberry wine is reserved for our highest clientele, despite how controversial it can be. We’re the only place that sells it this west of The Sands.>

<I don’t see why it’s controversial at all, it only enhances your desires, it doesn’t fabricate them.>

<Some don’t want their desires revealed in high doses, especially if they become borderline forceful. The effects are too overbearing for the inexperienced unless they take it in small doses. Our clients know what they’re doing, so there’s no harm in the drink’s presence.>

<I suppose that’s true.> His gaze falls to Cordelia.

Following his stare, Melandra speaks. <As for you, Deel, do you feel you’re ready for tomorrow’s performance?>

Cordelia whips her head in the direction of the woman, unsure of what she had just said. Her thoughts were on the thief named Radjerd.

<As long as I’m not at the forefront, _which I’m not,_ I will be fine.> Cordelia sinks her shoulders beneath the water, her peripheral hinting that her trainer hasn’t taken his warm amber eyes off of her. It makes her slightly uncomfortable.

Melandra assumes her discomfort is stage fright. <You’re more of a show-piece than anything—you have that regal look to you. I don’t understand why on earth you’d want to cover your pretty face, but I suppose we all have our insecurities.> Cordelia was wearing a mask donning bright yellow feathers, leaving her nose and lips revealed. She had pushed for a mask once she saw some of the stage performers wearing one—she didn’t need anyone in the audience recognizing her face. <All you have to do is smile, and pose as Branton had shown you. You dance will be decorative, enhancing the more skilled performers before you.>

<Yes, that’s reassuring.> Cordelia nods, her stomach now catching up with her racing mind. She damn hopes no one in that audience will recognize her.

 

After her bath, she bids both Branton and Melandra farewell, heading to her room. Cordelia notices something peculiar—a wine bottle with two fancy glasses rests on the table with a shred of paper in between. She looks at the wine bottle placed on the table—what she’d give for a drink. There was a note, but it's written in St. Antillan—she couldn’t read the language well, but she digs in. Grabbing one of the crystal wine glasses, she grabs the bottle and pours the liquid in the glass—the sound sending shivers through her ears. It’s been a long time since she had that sensation in her gut. She takes one whiff of the liquid—it smells sweet, almost rose like.  

Cordelia presses the rim of the glass to her lips, taking a small sip— _ooh!_ She’s in love with the taste. She pours herself another glass—and another. She decides to stop when she feels the effects—it had been a while since she had drunk quality wine, so she had to limit herself to amount that she had she poured. Cordelia leans against the bed, as relaxation sets in. Her eyes lean shut, only awoken by the sound of the thief entering the doorway.

The door opens, Cordelia's wide-eyed as he wears nothing but a towel. His loose hair frames his face, almost in curls. She can see the water drip, lining the curvature of his torso. So he _did_ bathe elsewhere… She doesn’t realize that she’s biting her lip, or, that she grips the skirt of her chemise. Just looking at him sent her senses into overdrive.

Cordelia is mesmerized by his fresh, soapy scent.  He hadn’t smelled so clean—he had even shaved—showing off his strong, flattering jawline. She doesn’t respond, watching the wet droplets cascade down his chest, right past his bellybutton, hitting the towel below. The thief raises a curious brow—he definitely notices. She feels a jolt in her gut, the yearning to feel him within her was strong. No, she couldn’t do this—why was she seduced by his bare chest—she saw it all the time!

<You’re sizing me up like a plate of meat.> His tone is delicious.

<You’re wrong.> She humphs. <I’d never do such a thing.> Her cheeks are hot—her body twinges with excitement as he approaches her. His hot violet eyes are melting her—she breathes warmly in response.

<Deely, are you alright?>

She turns away but feels a fiery need for his hands to explore her. She bites her lip, her steel-blue eyes examining him as he notices the bottle. His eyes widen in horror.  

<When did you drink this?> He commands.

<It was about fifteen minutes before you came back—why?>

He groans, looking at her. <You drank a wine that was meant for …god damn it Alteus. Look, you'll feel you want to fuck anything that moves for at least an hour—maybe two, but it’ll calm down eventually.>

<What on earth do you mean? I’d never!> Cordelia purses her lips—he didn’t need to be so crude, even if every word he said was true.

<What you drank is sold to Alteus’ private clients, to spur carnal desires—damn bastard, I told him not to!>

<Well if it’s how you say it is, then do what you have to do.> Cordelia blushes, knowing very well what she’s insinuating. Of course, she had to drink a cursed bottle—it was only a matter of time that she be cursed for her sins!

<Not like this.> He scowls. <I’m not touching you while you’re under the influence. It’s not right.>

<Just did what you did back at the Locke Manor, it’s fine! I’ll do anything to stop this incessant ache throughout my body.> She whimpers, feeling panicked that even he wouldn’t touch her. The intensity within her spikes, as she grasps the skirt of her chemise. She yells, <I’m at your mercy, and you still won’t take me?>

<It was never about having you at my mercy. I want it to be your full, conscious choice.>

<Except you’ve refused to lie with me.> Cordelia crosses her arms in detest as she backs away.

<I told you. You’re the Princess.>

<And why does that matter suddenly? You had no problem back at the Locke Manor.>

<I can’t in good conscience lie with the Princess of Wellspring. It’s just not right.> He mumbles. 

She blushes. <Well, it’s not like I’m a princess anymore.> Cordelia lifts the fabric of her chemise over her head. <And I have no desire of going home.> He has to stand up—looking at her now made him incredibly warm and bothered.

Cordelia had stripped once again—the coolness of the room felt good upon her hot skin. She walks up to him, pressing her chest behind his bare back.

He jumps, pushing her off. He gives her a blanket, his own cheeks developing a rouge colour. <Please, you’re making this difficult.>

<I know.> She moves around to face him, ripping the towel off from around her waist. <But if we’re being honest, I’ve been longing to feel you within me again. I know you want to do the same, no matter how much you deny it.>

<Of course I want to, but…>

<I’m the Princess, you’ve said. What, you don’t want to get attached in case you change your mind and kill me?>

<No—I have no intention of killing you, not at all!> He scrambles to get his towel back, but he fails.

Cordelia’s eyes wander downward—if his current stance meant anything, he clearly wanted to bed her. She didn’t care if it was some drink making her outwardly hungry for it—she didn’t like being denied. She leads him on his back. <Well, a kiss shouldn’t be too bad—should it?>

He glances up, looking at the perfect woman on his chest. Would a kiss be so bad?

<Fine, but—just a kiss.>

Cordelia pulls him into a sweet, satisfying embrace, her lips hungry to taste him. The sweetness tasted too good, but it only quelled the fire within her. This wasn’t helping—it made things worse.

She stops, gripping onto him. It no longer felt good, it felt overwhelming.

He can see the discomfort on her face, immediately getting up.

<I feel hot—my insides are throbbing—this is too much.> She speaks between words, the sweat on her forehead builds.

The thief looks at her, confused about what to do.  

<Stay right there.> The thief grabs his clothes, slipping them as he grabs the bottle. <Don’t leave this room. The men out there won’t think twice about taking advantage of you.>

He was right, but there was no listening to reason now. Now that she no longer felt overwhelmed, she crosses her arms, pulling the sheets up to her. She appreciated his sincerity, but she needed to be satisfied--there's no way the thief would do it now. If he would't satisfy her, there was one man that she knew would.

Now, where could she find him…

***

With the bottle in hand, Radjerd storms down the hall. He doesn’t care that it’s approaching midnight! He doesn’t give a shit that Alteus was likely entertaining his own needs. He should have never put something so dangerous in the hands of the princess!

Radjerd slams open his friend’s door—his eyes widen when he sees the bare rear of his wife grace his eyes—she turns around, her long dark hair covering her well-endowed chest. She frowns, as Alteus peeks behind his wife.

<Radjerd, if you wanted to join us so badly, you should have brought your pretty little wife. I mean, it’s only fair if you’re going to interrupt me so rudely.>

<Rudely, _me?_ Says the man who gave _my wife_ such a powerful wine! > He walks over, shoving the bottle in his face.

<It’s a thank you, of course. It’s our establishment’s finest wine—consider it a gift. You and your missus seem to have some bedroom problems, as you were grumbling about, so this is the least I can do for you, right, friend?>

God damn it… Radjerd had been grumbling, but he needed to let out his frustrations somehow. He knows Deely would have been more than willing to share his bed, but… She was the thing keeping him from a massive fortune. He didn’t want to kill her, but, it just felt wrong using her. She was royalty—he should have felt proud. But all he felt, was guilt. Why couldn’t he just take advantage of the situation in front of him?

He frowns. <She’s acting like an alley cat in heat.>

<Well, it’s only going to grow worse unless you do something about it.>

<Against her will?>

<She’s your wife. It wouldn’t be against her will.>

His wife frowns. <No, I think it’s admirable that he doesn’t want to take advantage of her without her consent. Because, dear husband, if I ever find out you did that to me, I will cut your balls off while you sleep.>

<No, of course, I wouldn’t do such a thing, my love.>

Radjerd interrupts their lovers’ talk.  

<Look—like I’ve said—I’ve only lied with her once. That was _after_ our wedding. She’s still nervous, and this is the wrong way to do it. >

<Be at ease, friend. She’s not in harm's way. The wine only enhances what is wanted—if she’s acting so hungry as you claim her to be, then know you’re not doing her any harm.>

<She’s not comfortable. It’s too much for her. Now, do you have an antidote that can cure it?>

<No, but if you insist on holding off, it should wear off in about a couple of hours.>

<She drank half of the bottle.>

<Oh, dear. You better cure that poor girl, or she’s going to be beside herself in torture.> He laughs. <Not that it should be a problem for you.>

<Now leave us be, unless, you’d like to take part.> His wife lowers her eyebrow. <Enjoy your Weltish Minx.>

He shivers at the thought. His restraint had been fantastic—this was going to be equally as torturous on him as it was for her.

But, he had to remain vigilant.

Radjerd, defeated, lowers his head as he returns to his room. He gasps when he sees that Cordelia isn’t there. His heart stops.

_God, don’t tell him that she’s…_

He races out of the room and down the hall—if she went to seek pleasure elsewhere—good god! He heads down the narrow hall to the dimly lit bathhouse; he can hear some noises coming from the hall. He freezes when he recognizes that one of the moans is coming from the princess—dammit! He doesn’t care that his feet might slip on the tile—whoever is touching her will have their face beaten in. 

Radjerd’s jaw drops when he sees Deely on the lap of a dark fellow, with eyes a vivid amber colour—was that even possible?  He gladly accepts Deely’s advances, as she moves her hips on his bare waist liplocked—god, they weren’t—no, he could see the man’s pride hanging between his legs. Anger boils within him as he grabs Deely off of the man, punching him square in the jaw.

<Hey—what gives!?> He glowers, staring at Radjerd with his amber eyes.

<That’s my _wife_ you have your grubby hands all over. > Radjerd growls.

<She’s not complaining. It’s not my fault if you choose not to satisfy your woman. You haven’t checked up on her very much this week—this poor girl’s starving for attention—and I’m more than happy to oblige.> He smugly says as he rubs his cheek, refusing to admit that Radjerd’s punch hurt. <Weltish women are just my type.>

Radjerd kicks the stool that the man sits upon, a loud smack is heard against the tile. The man appears dazed, but that’s about it. Radjerd decides this is the best time to escape. He carries Deely over his shoulder as he returns to their room—she grumbles, upset at the memories it brings back.

Anger flashes through his eyes as he closes the door, easing Cordelia off of his shoulder. <You two didn’t—> He says, but is cut off immediately.

<No, of course not—I didn’t have the chance to before you showed up.> She stiffly says. <You had your chance, but you blew it.>

<Deely, you can’t just philander about without _thinking_ first! >

<I don’t _care_ , this is torture!> She whimpers. <If you won’t fix this, I’ll find someone who will.>

<Do you even hear what you’re admitting to?>

<I told you, I’m not the princess anymore—it’s far too late to go back now.>

<You were going to give yourself to some _stranger! >_

<Branton's not a stranger—besides, I don’t see you doing anything about it.> She hisses. <Now let me go!>

<Fine, I’ll give you what you want—but you better not fault me for it in the morning.> He says, pinning her on her stomach. He hikes up her chemise, throwing off his towel. <Is this what you want?>

<Yes!> She squeals, as he eases into her, she grips the pillow with intensity. He would have called her moans exaggerated, but that wine was setting her body aflame with desire. She viciously thrusts her hips against him—it was more than he needed to ease the regret. A week of torture turned into unadulterated bliss. His hips remained stationed at her waist, she was doing all the work.

Wow, the man in the bathhouse had been right—she was  _starved_.

She whimpers in a language he can’t understand, but he doesn’t need to. Her enjoyment is music to his ears. She raises her hips, her fingers crawling between her legs as she begs for him to continue.

God, his self-restraint had been good until now.

He eases out of her, lying on his back. With a finger, he motions it towards him. <I’m curious to see what you can do, _princess_. > His purr is unmistakable, but if she wanted him—she was the one who had to prove it.

Deely complies, carefully easing him into her. She was good for a beginner. He lets out a groan, her tightness tugs with each thrust. Her back arched slightly, she strokes her hips in gentle movements, then harsher ones. It’s making him go crazy. She didn’t have the rhythm perfected, but he doesn’t care. Whatever she was doing—it was amazing. The dimly lit room created a cozy atmosphere, accentuating the flushed spots of her skin. Her eyes were glossy, full of yearning, her sweet moans caressing his ears.

It was like he was seeing life in pink, for the very first time. He was  _not_  going to let this woman go.

He tenses, feeling himself at his limit—no, this was pathetic. He couldn’t fold so easily, not like this. He had to close his eyes, the soft bounce of her flesh wasn’t helping him stay grounded.

<Kiss me!> She speaks, her voice still wavering from her current state. Her full, luscious lips press against his, as she wraps her arms around him. He does as he’s told, her mouth is _irresistible_.

That was his biggest mistake. He moans against her lips, holding onto dear life as he twitches against her. She lets out a satisfying gasp enjoying the ecstasy of his release. He hates himself for finishing so early.

Radjerd’s surprised when he sees the Princess’ glossy stare turn normal, as she stays linked to him. <Don’t you dare leave.>

Now that’s the commanding tone he’s used to.

<I don’t plan on it.> He whispers, parting her blonde hair behind her ears. <In fact, you’re never leaving my sight again.>

***

Cordelia stretches, clenching both hands into fists. She lets out a soft moan as her muscles relax, her steel-blue eyes trailing to the sprawled out man beside her. She winces, slowly bringing down her arms. Her cheeks burn at the reminder of last night—the coolness of the fresh air on her chest was indication enough that her memory was not recalling a dream—it had been _very_  real. She didn’t regret the actions that transpired, rather, her behaviour—and what she was about to do with her trainer. She covers her hands in shame—she’d have to face everyone this morning. There was no way she could back out of it, either, as the performance was today. It was a small dancing number to draw in a crowd, but it was her first show. If she didn’t perform, she wouldn’t be paid. Cordelia wants to hide under the covers, but the thief’s bare arms wrapping around her waist distracts her.

<Hello Deely.> His low voice purrs. He’s clearly pleased with what happened. He raises a brow when she doesn’t respond. <You look upset.> He inches away from her in suspicion as a frown forms on his face.

<I’m not upset about what happened—with you.> She blushes—it wasn’t like her to be so forward—but recalling how she flung herself at the thief so carnally—maybe it was. <It was my choice, and I will own up to it.>

<You make it sound like it was a bad thing.>

<You of all should understand why my behaviour wasn’t ideal—but, I do remember enjoying myself.> Her face must be beet red by now. <So there’s no need for you to sleep in that chair anymore.>

He tucks her hair behind her ear as he brings her in to kiss him. She jumps when there’s a sharp knock at the door—which the thief grumbles as he throws the sheet off of him, grabbing his trousers before he answers the door. Cordelia tucks herself underneath the sheets to keep herself away from potential peering eyes. She hears the voice of Alteus and Melandra. Cordelia buries herself in the sheets even farther, but it’s obvious they know she’s there. She hears the thief bark at Alteus to leave, that his presence was upsetting her—considering that she wasn’t wearing her chemise at all—that was true.

<Deel, sweetie, we just want to apologize.>

Melandra’s voice, however, put her at ease. It’s not like the bathhouse, she would be the only one here who was exposed. Despite her better judgement, Cordelia lifts the covers from her face, her eyes peeking above the sheets. Her face grows even redder when she sees the smouldering look Alteus has—did that man always have to look so enticing?!

<Deel, I want to explain my side of the story. I thought that you were a bit  _reserved_ in the ways of the bedroom. It’s not your fault, for that, I blame your Weltish upbringing—but I have made a grave error. I didn’t mean to impose such a strong blend upon you, and I hope you can forgive me for being insensitive. >

<Although, it did sound like the two of you had a ball. The entire house will be jealous.> Melandra adds—that is _not_ something Deely wants to recall.

_Had she really been that vocal?!_

<It’s okay, we embrace pleasure here—not condemn it. Although, Branton won’t be performing tonight due to a certain _someone’s_ temper. >

<I was _not_ having that man touch her. > The thief’s growl is a warning. <He knew not to put his hands on her.>

<That he did.> Alteus cuts in, as he claps his hands together. <Which means, we’ll be needing a replacement. I do believe our man Rad can suffice.>

The thief scoffs, <You must be joking.>

<Relax, Branton wasn’t at the forefront—he merely wore a dark garb to keep himself hidden in the background as he lifted dancers. Which means, you better be ready for training.> Alteus brings his focus to Cordelia. <And Deel, please accept my sincerest of apologies.>

Melandra sighs, examining the bottle on the table. <I swore you would have heard me and Branton discuss it yesterday, but then again you did seem rather spacey. Don’t worry about it, I’ll see you in rehearsal.> She pats Cordelia’s shoulder before taking her leave.

The thief’s gaze is troublesome. <I can’t believe he wants me to perform.> He’s disgusted with the prospect, that much is obvious. <All because I punched that bastard in the face.>

<You didn’t need to do that.> Cordelia crosses her arms.

<I didn’t have a choice—that cocky ass-wipe was going to steal you right from under me.>

<And why should that matter?> Cordelia grits her teeth. <I’m free to do as I please.>

<Perhaps… But…> He’s nervous—something Cordelia hadn’t seen since the two had escaped from The Locke Manor. <I understand that you’re a Princess, but …would you really be willing to give all of that—and the luxuries of that life away?>

<It’s been around two weeks since I had my luxuries—a week since we had to abandon them completely—so I suppose I already had resigned to my fate.> Cordelia taps her chin. She really did resign all her comforts.

<Maybe it’s Alteus’ way of life that’s got me screwed up. But one thing’s certain—unless you tell me in your own words that you want to leave—I won’t abandon you.>

Cordelia’s confused what he means, but he changes the subject by lowering the bedsheet that kept Cordelia modest. <Now, as for the nonsensical training I have to look forward to—I’m hoping you can get my mind off of it.>

 

Cordelia is donned in her costume, her purple sequined top matches the bottom of her long-slit skirt quite amicably. She stands behind the stage, her stomach in knots from nerves. Rehearsal had gone smoothly, and the thief had even offered a smile or two in her direction when he wasn’t frowning at Alteus’ teasings. It helped keep her focused when all her colleagues wanted to discuss what they had heard her partake in the night before—and why Branton was knocked out. Frankly, it wasn’t any of their business—despite how vocal she had been during the experience. Thankfully she donned the feathered mask—it detracted from how red her face had been. She didn’t see the thief around—then again, he was wearing dark clothing. It wasn’t likely that she’d see him.

Her nerves spike when they’re all instructed into position, Cordelia leaning against the wall prop.

_This was nothing, she’s been in front of hundreds before. This was no different._

The curtains raise—the lanterns flicker on as the dancers in front of her enter on stage.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

Cordelia makes her way onto the stage, twirling as instructed. Her amethyst pins shone brilliantly under the lantern lights, the audience’s soft approvals brought her joy. As she makes her way to the instructed prop, she places herself, arching her rear as instructed. In training, it felt ridiculous, but on stage, it gave her confidence. She watches as the hard work of the other dancers pays off as the show continues—it was amazing to witness! She felt pride for her colleagues, their hard work was paying off. Now, it was her turn to twirl again. She did, amicably.

Something that alarms her though—the man lifting her was not the thief—it was a man she hadn’t recognized. She knows something’s wrong when she’s thwarted off stage, her mouth covered immediately as she shuffles in his grasp. Her arms are bound together by the man’s strong grip. The claps of the crowd were heard from the other side of the wall—there was no chance her muffles could be heard. Not until she’s thrown into a small room dazzled with candles and red velvet. This was one of the private rooms—made especially for entertaining clients. She’s thrown to her knees as the door closes—her heart stops as she sees a familiar satchel on the table. The sea blue eyes of the recipient facing her rises to her feet, clapping slowly. There’s no mistaking who this is.

<You put on a wonderful show, _Princess_. Now allow me to request one of my own. >


	10. Chapter 10

<You shouldn’t be surprised to see me.> A wicked grin spreads across the woman’s face. The woman who tried to kill her—and would have succeeded if the thief named Radjerd hadn’t intervened. Except, he wasn’t here. It was just her, and Freydis. Cordelia attempts to grip something beneath her to help her out of her situation, but all her fingers are met with is the tile floor.

<You shouldn’t have fucked with me, _Princess. > _Her growl becomes menacing as the look in her eyes go from playful to serious within a second. Cordelia scurries to the door but Freydis smiles. <Getting Rad on your side was a mistake—he _will_ regret using his gifts against me. >  

<I never asked him to, but I’m glad he did. Who on earth would want to die?!> Cordelia braces herself against the floor, carefully keeping an eye on the woman above her.

<A pittance?! Do you even know how much your life is worth around these parts? You’re the god damn princess. You’ll pay for your ignorance.> Freydis lunges forward, Cordelia dodges out of the way. She's relieved that her training paid off—it made her nimble enough to avoid Freydis directly. Cordelia grabs the table, shifting it in front of her to use as a barricade between the women.

Freydis climbs over the table, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair. She seethes, <You’re not escaping me this time. I made sure to tell Alteus who you really were—poor man seemed sympathetic to your situation but he agreed to withhold Rad for me—we can’t have him interfering a second time.> Freydis leans forward, the grip on her hair tightens.

Cordelia gathers her saliva, spitting it in Freydis’ face. The woman is taken aback, looking fairly amused with her act.  

<Now, I’m not as reckless as I was back at the Locke Manor, dear princess.> Freydis unbuttons her shirt, Cordelia’s eyes peeled to her soft, tanned breasts. With one hand she forces Cordelia on the ground. <While I want to rip your hair out for what Rad did to me, there are other ways I can silence you.> Freydis bites the edge of her cheek—no, there’s something underneath her tongue. Cordelia’s eyes widen when Freydis leans closer. <I can see why I was betrayed—a cute little thing like you with those plump lips of yours. You’re bewitching my men, and myself.>

She couldn’t have said Branton—god—he was working from the inside? Is that why he was interested in her? If the thief named Radjerd hadn’t knocked him out—would Branton have sneaked off with her that night? 

Regardless, she had to escape. 

Freydis pins Cordelia’s shoulders to the ground—she was too strong to fight back. She might have been nimble as a dancer, but her strength was pitiful. Freydis leans in, her wicked smile growing wider as she leans her mouth against Cordelia’s, taking the blonde’s lips with her own. She muffles, feeling the weight of the woman atop her, the taste in her mouth was anything but saliva—it tasted like honey, with a bit of tartness mixed in.  

<What did you just do?> Cordelia barely whispers in fear.

<You’re not going to be yelling or screaming much after this.> Freydis pulls away. <Now I can finally explain what’s going to happen—without having an unexperienced gel like yourself try to best me. Honestly, why even try—it’s going to get you _nowhere._ > She shakes her head in exasperation. <From how you floundered under my weight the last time, I was quite disappointed that your parents hadn’t taught you how to defend yourself—you're royalty for god's sake!> 

<My parents had knights that ensured my protection—and if you must know, my father had wanted me to learn, but my mother stopped him from teaching me.> Cordelia wasn’t sure why her honesty spilled so fast from her lips. This was her killer—she owed this woman nothing.

<If I had listened to Leanna, I’d be married to Rad and living a pauper’s life—which isn’t exactly my style.> She lowers her brows. <I’m not a fan of listening to one’s ma.>

Cordelia _swears_ she’s heard a version of that line come from the thief’s mouth.

Cordelia hisses, <Now let me go before I scream.> Her eyes flash in horror when Freydis doesn’t draw her blade, in fact, whistles to call her henchman back in. <If you even try, I will make you regret it.> Her sea blue eyes scan the Princess accordingly. <You see, plans have changed. The man who wants you dead offered a considerable amount, but it seems that the King and Queen of Wellspring want twice the amount for their daughter’s safe return. Now, I’m not letting you out of my sight until you willingly agree that you will accompany me to your palace, saying that I alone rescued you from your kidnappers.>

Cordelia won't. She’d take death over going back—she wouldn’t be married off. Her mother would see Cordelia as damaged goods, and send her off before either kingdom could ask any questions. Her cold, uncaring mother—it was a fate worse than anything Freydis could do with her blade. Cordelia’s exasperated when she can’t move her body—her arms are all she can manage.

<I can see your angry eyes, I can’t say that I blame you. If the damn King and Queen only came out with that decree of theirs a little sooner, I could have saved myself a ton of grief. You see, your jewels only bought me so much. But I suppose you’ll get my full meaning momentarily—I can see that the elixir is working.>

Cordelia hates how accurate the woman is, her head spins with delirium. It’s sudden, hitting her as her eyelids grow heavy. She hears Freydis ushering Branton’s name, and, her body being lifted from the floor. Her arms dangle in the air as she’s carried out of the room. The rest could only be described as a hazy dream.

Or, her worst nightmare.

***

Alteus lingers by the doorway, a delirious Radjerd comes to—the performance! He attempts to leap from his post, but his wrists are chained to the post—where the hell was he—the storage room? He demands to know what’s going on—and what the price for his head was. No, he remembers what had transpired. Branton—that son of a bitch, he had faked his injuries and snuck into Radjerd’s room—knocking him out by holding him down, forcing him to ingest one of Freydis’ elixirs. He had thought that it was revenge for taking the princess away from him, but it turns out his plans were much more sinister—he was working with Freydis to capture Deely. He reported that Alteus knew of the thief’s crimes, and chained Radjerd away before any became the wiser. 

Now he was face to face with Alteus, his friend’s worried eyes are upon him.

<Why weren’t you honest with me—that _your so-called wife_ was the princess?! You didn’t have to lie. > His friend’s hands clench into fists. <You understood the repercussions—if it wasn’t Freydis who followed you here, things could become disastrous. I have a family to consider—and you put them in danger because you didn’t think. You never think about the repercussions, do you Radjerd!?>

<I was in a tight spot.> Radjerd says under his breath. <I didn’t know what I could have done. Freydis almost killed her the first time—I couldn’t let that happen. I had to do something. I remembered your establishment, assuming we could hide out here until we came up with a better plan. I never meant to get you involved.>

<That’s hardly comforting. You’re a fool, and a traitor.> Alteus sighs. <I’m fortunate Freydis is the one who came to me first. If it was the Delteans, my place would have been destroyed from ceiling to floor—all because of you.>

<I know.> Radjerd’s guilt bubbles to the surface.

<Here’s the thing—I don’t think you do.> Alteus shakes his head, his tresses caressing his forehead. <Freydis is with the Princess now, so all is back to normal.>

<What!?> Radjerd rattles the handcuffs against the wooden pole. He can’t break free. <Freydis is going to _kill_ her! Let me go, please—let me save her! >

<She’s not going to kill the Princess—but she can’t trust you. After what you did, I can understand why. It was stupid of you to abandon your mission—I thought you wanted to get out of poverty?>

<I still do. Not all of us are as lucky as you to have an inheritance gifted to you.>

<Now I’m going to stop you there.> Alteus stomps his foot. <You know I’ve worked hard all my life to get where I am. Yes, I got a little bit of help from a spontaneous source of income, but I was _smart_ with it, making it work for me. >

<And you don’t think I would have been smart with an inheritance? Hell, I had to stretch a copper for all that it was worth all my life!> Radjerd spits. <Don’t tell me that you’re not lucky.>

Alteus frowns. He knows he can’t argue. <I’m not the one on trial here, _you are_. You’re damn fortunate Melandra wasn’t hurt. If your foolish actions had put her in danger, which they easily could have, I would gut you myself. >

<Alteus, I’m sorry. Look, I didn’t know where else to go.>

<I understand that.> He lets out a frustrated sigh. <I locked you up here so you wouldn’t do anything stupid. It’s just best to let her go. She will be back in the arms of her parents soon enough.>

<No, Freydis wants to kill her!>

<Not anymore. She’s bringing the Princess home—Her Ransom has gone up considerably since the week the two of you have been here—I thought you would have heard about it.>

Radjerd breathes a sigh of relief, his pulse lowering from Alteus’ words. <I try not to make note of every person in search of her.>

<But why did you rescue her, Radjerd? Why not let Freydis kill her—why not profit from your work?>

<I don’t know why I interfered. All I know is that I couldn’t let Freydis take Deely’s life.>

<Deely?>

<It’s what she called herself when we first met. I won’t call her anything else.>

Alteus frowns. <Your tone concerns me, Radjerd. Your act was far more convincing than it should have been—you have an attachment to her.>

He falls silent, disgust forms on his face. Alteus wasn’t wrong—he did.

<Does she know?>

<Don’t play the nice guy here—you’re aiding Freydis. Why!> Radjerd’s anger returns.

<Because Freydis wants to return her to Wellspring. While she does that, you can’t interfere.>

Radjerd had heard Alteus’ words from before, but the implication hit hardest at that moment.

<Radjerd, what kind of a life would you give her?>

<Alteus. That’s not what this is about!>

<I can hear it in your voice. You want to be the one who she commits to, but are you really doing her a favour? The two of you will be forever in hiding—you’ll never live a normal life.>

<I know that I’d be foolish to think we could live a normal life.>  

Alteus sighs, <I’m glad to hear that. This is the best thing that you could do for her. Let the Princess return home, where she belongs.>

Radjerd curses under his breath. Deely wanted nothing more than to stay away from the Palace of Wellspring. But Alteus was right. It was foolish that the two of them could have made a life together. All because he got used to her company, her fiery spirit, and, her bedroom manner. But, maybe Alteus was right.

Maybe it was for the best.

 

Three hours.

Three hours since Alteus betrayed him—three damn hours that he couldn’t pick the damn lock. His wrists are raw, the corners of the metal cutting into his wrists. This was torture—hell—a nightmare.

There was a chance he’d never see Deely again.

With each passing minute, regret seeps into his bones. He should have fought harder, tried to convince Alteus to let him go. But he didn’t—he agreed that the man was right—letting Deely go would be best for everyone involved.

Radjerd had to disagree. He had to find Freydis, get Deely out of her grasp. Before she was shipped to the Palace of St. Antilla.

He couldn’t lose Deely. He didn’t know what she was to him, but he mattered enough to her that he wouldn’t let her suffer. He had tried everything—the moon was high in the sky—he could see it through the propped window. Even if he escaped, he couldn’t fit through the damp crevice. God, he was an utter fool. How could he let himself get captured, just to be at the whims of Freydis—taking a woman who mattered to him—yes, the money was important—but… Radjerd kicks the post out of frustration. He couldn’t believe the turmoil that he was subjected to, or, why he was tortured in this impossible way. Deely, god, he could still imagine her rose-tinted skin, her hair smelling like vanilla lavender. Whatever the feeling was, he was intoxicated by her. It was frustrating beyond belief—his entire life he had wished to be free from the shackles of his craft—to live a normal life, just how his ma wanted. If he could kill the Princess, he could have that life. It would have been perfect. Why couldn’t she have been a noblewoman—at least then the entire country of Wellspring wouldn’t be looking after her! Maybe the two of them could have had a simple life—she seemed to be content with how her life was now. To give up the comforts of being a Princess, living like this… Her situation must have been poor.

Dammit, he had to find Freydis and convince her to stop—there had to be another way!

He looks around the room, carefully seeing what he could use as leverage to escape.

Radjerd freezes when he hears light footsteps—they could only belong to a woman. Judging by the swift nature of her entry, it’s obviously Melandra—one of the last people he wanted to see. She's the wife of the man who betrayed him.

<Radjerd, please don’t look at me like that.> The smell of Chicken Chowder wafted through the air—she had brought him his meal. Seeing how she was standing, he expected that she’d try to feed him. How demoralizing…

<It was rather dumb of your husband to leave you down here with me.>

<Radjerd. You’d never hurt me—I know that.>

Radjerd narrows his violet eyes, she’s bloody right. He wouldn’t have attacked Melandra—she didn’t do him any harm. Dammit, he still had his sensibilities.

<Listen—I was just as surprised as anyone when Alteus told me that Deel was the Princess of Wellspring. That in itself was jaw-dropping. But I can’t help but wonder—what was your relationship with her? I know that the two of you aren’t married—that much is clear—but why go through all that effort to protect her?> Melandra mixes the chicken chowder. <Unless there were real feelings there.>

<It’s complicated.> He frowns.

<Alteus wouldn’t tell me the whole story behind all of this, but I’m hoping you will.> She examines him carefully as she sits down on a crate near the doorway, the bowl of chowder resting on her palm. <How did this start?>

<Freydis and I were commissioned by this man who hardly revealed his face. He claimed to be the King of Wellspring’s bastard. I figured he was full of shit—but Freydis thought it could be promising. She has always had better intuition than I ever did. So we made a deal—he was a successful guild leader who laundered money through estates—he ended up to be quite a wealthy man. But he wanted more power—and killing the princess seemed to be next on his conquering list.>

<But how does one know if they’re a king’s bastard?>

<He claims that he looks just like the king, but I’ve never seen him. I suppose I’d only know if I saw the king himself—he had fair hair like Deely does, but fair-haired people walk all around Wellspring.> He lowers his brows, rolling into a sigh. <I suppose there’s no point in asking you to help me escape, is there?>

Melandra slips a hand into her pocket. <That’s exactly what I wanted to do. I like Deel, and from the sounds of things—she doesn’t belong in that stuffy palace. Maybe you can convince Freydis to stop her plan, we can bring Deel here—come up with a new idea. I’ll talk to Alteus, so there’s no need to worry. 

<Thank you.> Radjerd’s elated as she slips the key from her pocket, unlocking the cuffs binding him. Radjerd stretches as he feels the chains of his predicament fall from his wrists. He eyes the bowl of chowder, taking it from the hand of Melandra, sipping it before he took his leave. It was hot, but he didn’t care.

She hands him a dagger. <Only use this when you have to.> 

He hooks the weapon on the belt of his trousers. <I will.> 

***

Cordelia is able to move once again when she comes to, realizing that she’s stowed away on a back of a carriage—her thoughts piecing together what Freydis had said. She likely bought the carriage from the jewels she had in her satchel. The dirty road kicked dust behind them—she had seen far worse within her wake. She’s able to move this time! She keeps herself carefully situated in the carriage, afraid to make any movements. She could hear both Freydis and Branton in the front, chatting about the tough road ahead—they had to turn back. Cordelia holds her breath, closing her eyes when Branton takes a glance behind him, his amber eyes warm on her frame—Cordelia pretends that she’s fallen asleep, taking great care in her movements. She didn’t know where she was, but if she could roll away from the carriage without notice, she might be able to escape.

She couldn’t go back to Wellspring—especially with people on the lookout for her.

Cordelia isn’t sure how she’s going to break away—It was likely that Freydis would stop the carriage immediately once she discovered her missing. She had to be smart about it.

If there was a bump in the road—she might be able to escape that way. Cordelia inches away from the corner, using her arms to move forward—she’s fortunate that she wasn’t tied up. If it were Cordelia’s guess, it was to avoid suspicion, just like the thief—Cordelia’s stops herself for letting out a distressed moan—he had saved her before—but he wouldn’t be able to now. She had to save herself—something she wasn’t sure she was capable of doing. She takes a deep breath, rolling forward as, by pure magical coincidence, a bump in the road sends her flying out of the carriage and onto the dirt road. Her limbs were sore from impact, but Cordelia pulls herself up. She had a hard time recognizing the surroundings, but the wooded was hard-tipped that they had crossed the border. Cordelia doesn’t have time to ponder, allowing her legs to carry her into a sheltered area. She knows Freydis would discover Cordelia’s disappearance quickly, so she had to move—now.

Cordelia hears the carriage stop, her actions have to be quick. She knew it wasn’t possible that she’d escape, but she’d take any delay she could. If her mother found her in her current state—god knows what she’d do. There would be little that her father could do to prevent her fate—he was too much in love with the Queen to say no.

Even if it was futile, Cordelia had to try.

She spots a great oak tree—her climbing was atrocious, but her goal was to keep Freydis and Branton distracted for as long as humanly possible. She attempts to grab the first branch but is caught immediately by Branton’s grip. Dammit, he’s just too strong!

<I’m sorry.> He speaks softly, despite Cordelia’s curses.

<Get her back in the carriage, now! We don’t have much time before the guards spot us.> Freydis hisses, waving at him to bring her forward immediately.

Cordelia wriggles against the man’s grip, finding that he loosens with each movement—wait a minute. Cordelia gets a glimmer of hope—that could only mean one thing. She _accidentally_ moves her hands against his belt, triggering him to shudder. Even though he was working with Freydis, he was still very attracted to her. She would save her moment, then use this to her advantage.

The three of them stop—three knights appear from the wooded path, immediately inspecting the cart.

<Shit.> Freydis mutters. <We have to fall back—now that the damn reward is out, anyone’s going to lose their minds if they find the Princess.>

Cordelia freezes, knowing that calling out to the knights wouldn’t help her fate—in fact, it would seal it further. She hated to admit it, but staying with Freydis would be her best bet. Even the woman appeared smart enough not to make any sudden movements.

Now it was Cordelia’s turn to make demands.

<You better turn back now, or I’m going to make sure that the knights know that your band tried to kill me.>

<If you do that, I will take your precious Radjerd with me.>

Cordelia’s about to raise her voice but silences it immediately when the knights discover her location. The emblem on their armour strike Cordelia as odd—that group was her mother’s personal entourage. It couldn’t be.

<Are you really going to test that theory?> Freydis raises a brow. Even clenched at the razor’s edge, Freydis was still willing to barter. This woman was truly worth her gutsiness. Her henchman Branton still had his arms secure around the Princess’ frame—she was hard pressed to move. Except—that silver moonlit hair she sees from the approaching carriage is a dastardly one.

Her sharp green eyes bore through the wooded area like sharp blades—three knights on each side of her. The silver-green gown she wears is highlighted by the moon, her presence undaunted.

It was the scariest sight Cordelia could have ever laid her eyes upon.

Standing before the band of thieves, is her mother.

Cordelia’s heart sinks to the bottom of her gut. Her fate is sealed.

Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, at the end of Chapter 10. 
> 
> But here's the thing--the story is not over yet. In fact, it's only just begun! However, I need to focus on MLTK, and give it the wrap-up that it deserves. Which is why I will be releasing Part 2 of To Kiss a Princess **January 4th, 2019!** It will have weekly instalments just like it did before, which I'm really looking forward to continuing! 
> 
> If you want to stay in the loop with all things Radjerd and Cordelia, feel free to join the [discord](http://bit.ly/2MkFQxw) if it calls to you. Or, if you would prefer, subscribe or bookmark this tale so you'll be the first to know as soon as this story updates! It also helps me see the interest in the overall story, which is purely for my curiosity. ;) 
> 
> I appreciate all of you who gave this original fic a chance! It's honestly one of my favourites, and it's not even close to done. Bless this AU, it's got me entranced! 
> 
> See you all in Part 2! 
> 
> Rose <3


	11. Chapter 11

Damn it all.

Radjerd curses, his feet sore from his exaggerated pace. Hours had passed since he escaped from _Shastican’s Delight_ , thanks to Melandra’s assistance. He hopes that Alteus won’t reprehend the woman too harshly for it—she is his wife. If he sees Melandra again, he owed her. The man squints, his eyes bleary from travel. To his relief, he sees a village up ahead, one he recognized from his early days as a thief—when he and Freydis were inexperienced. It’s funny how a simple village can bring back fond memories—and what time was like before he had been thrown off course. What turned out to be a simple mission became unhinged—all for some hot _noblewoman turned princess._

Nestled away from the border, is the little town of Ven—known for a mixture of Weltish folk, and St. Antillans. He avoided the place before, due to Deely’s paranoia—before he knew her secret. Thankfully, the place quieted down for the night—not many windows were illuminated by lanterns. His stomach growls—a reminder that he’s going to be without food for quite some time—it’s nothing he hasn’t faced before.  

Radjerd wanders into an alleyway, his limbs fatigued. He leans his sore back against the cool, clay wall. Near the border, the air wasn’t as cold. Thank god. The sandy/grassy texture of the ground is hard, but it was better than moving. Radjerd relaxes, leaning his head against the wall; moonlight reflecting on his skin.

Radjerd dreads what comes next—an idle body means an idle mind would come.

Just when he thought he had a chance at a normal life, it’s ripped away from him. In a time where a man could fall in love on a whim—although love isn’t what he’d call it—his attraction to Deely runs deeper than he thought. Her charm was her forwardness—her bravery. A princess, who decided to leave the comforts of her home, in search of something greater. It’s exactly what he had done—and, the reason he grew attached to her. Deely’s mission was much like his own—and—why he couldn’t hand her over when the opportunity had found him.

He groans, wiping the mop of black hair from his forehead. He has a rigorous mission ahead. If Deely was in the Palace of Wellspring, he’d have a hell of a time getting to her. Freydis wouldn’t take her time—she’d have delivered Deely by now. There was no need to maneuver around the knights when you had the person they were looking for right in your grasp. She’d even be escorted right to the King and Queen— _god dammit._

Radjerd runs both hands through his hair—this is a mission destined for failure. How was he supposed to get _into_ the palace? If Freydis ratted him out, this would be impossible.  His foolish nature would aid him—there was no talking him out of rescuing Deely. The man sighs, his head rests against the clay wall.

He’ll figure it out as he goes. He has no other choice…

 

Radjerd stirs, his belt slightly tugs against his pant line. Not unusual when one slept sitting up—except—the pull is aggressive. He jolts awake, reaching for his dagger. His eyes flare open, the touch of warm skin where his dagger should be. A young man with tousled brown hair kneels over him, his pale hand wrapped around the hilt of Radjerd’s weapon. His robe throws the man off—it’s stitched with fine gold material. Why would a man dressed so fine be robbing the likes of him?

The young man’s scared brown eyes vibrate, the moonlight illuminating his form.

<The hell you think you’re doing?> Radjerd growls.

The young man is mute, his lips barely part.

Radjerd nudges the man away from him as he stands. He eyes the potential thief on the sandy, grassy terrain.

<Listen, I’d normally never result to stealing, but I’m desperate. Please don’t kill me!> His voice sounds like that of an adolescent—now that he had a better look at his face, he was one. He’s got a strong jaw, but his cheeks were still round. Big eyes, smooth pale skin—freckles, if the moonlight wasn’t playing with his sight—and lanky. Judging by the gold stitching of his robe, he’s not poor either.  

<Desperate enough to steal?> Radjerd raises an unimpressed brow.

<…Yes.> The boy hangs his head in shame. <You see, I’m a reader—a good one. I study things—terrains, languages, all sorts of interesting tidbits. I’m no thief or a fighter. In fact, I’m not even a traveller—I love books, would much rather travel through the mind. Please, spare me!>

The teen’s a rambler—a nervous one at that. If he’s a studier of languages, that’d make sense why his accent wasn’t Antillan. His annunciations sounded like Deely’s.

<You’re Weltish.> Radjerd says with certainty.   

<I am.> The teen grips his robe, stepping away from the man.

Radjerd crosses his arms. <Then why are you across the border? If you’re from Wellspring and wearing those fancy clothes, why bother stealing from me when you can buy a dagger far nicer than mine?>  

<Well—you see—I—>  

<Everyone has a reason for stealing.> Radjerd concludes. <Now, if you don’t want me to filet your fingers for touching my blade, you better start talking—now.> He arches forward, intimidating the boy with his size.

<M-My sister’s been kidnapped, I’m trying to find her. But all the officials are so consumed with the Princess’ disappearance, they’re too preoccupied to help!>  

Deely was still considered missing? That didn’t make sense—Freydis would have been easily escorted to the palace—unless something had happened along the way. He had to get moving! Radjerd springs to his feet, moving towards the border.  

<Wait!> The boy raises his voice, his feet shuffle behind Radjerd. <I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I beg you, can you help me?>

<Piss off.> Radjerd waves an arm in front of his face. <I got shit to do that doesn’t involve you.>

<You wouldn’t be holding daggers unless you were rough with your hands—to fend off attackers and the like. I know, I _know_ I screwed up for trying to rob you, and I understand if you don’t want to—but please, _please_ help me! You’re big and strong—you’d be able to deck anyone who messes with you!>

<Okay, stand still.> Radjerd stops, readying his fist.

<N-No, I didn’t mean me!> The boy splutters.

<Consider me sparing your teeth a helping hand.> Radjerd shakes his head, picking up his pace, again.

<You’re heading in the direction of Wellspring, are you not? You know that you need special clearance to get through.> Why in the hell could he hear this pipsqueak still talk? <We’re going the same way, I can say you’re a friend of mine!>

<Go. Away.> Radjerd’s irritation seeps through his lips. He didn’t need some pipsqueak to help him cross through, it’s easy enough to make it around the guards.

<Look, if you’re going to Wellspring—you must have a mission there that I could help you with. How about an audience with the King?>

Radjerd abruptly stops, his violet eyes narrow in on the lanky framed teen. < _You_ can get me an audience with the King of Wellspring? >

<I can! I’m Duke Lancaster’s son.>

<That name means nothing to me.> Radjerd crosses his arms.

<It should. He’s the King’s best friend.> Now, that’s a likely story. If that was the case, this kid wouldn’t be all the way out here looking for his sister.

<Then, as the King’s _best friend_ , shouldn’t he have an army at his beck and call?>

<King Aleck’s too distraught over the Princess’s disappearance to take requests. My father _tried_ to speak with him, but nothing came of it _._ > Bitterness lies in the teen’s voice. <Every armed knight out there is searching for her.>

Which means, that if Freydis was in Wellspring, she’d be found soon. Maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about. Thinking about it, this kid _could_ be Radjerd’s way into the palace—once Deely was returned. Not only that, but Radjerd understood very little Weltish. He needed a translator. Was it worth the detour? It could very well be.

<Do you know where your sister is being held?>

<I thought she was in The Sands, but I’m mistaken. I think I was led there on purpose.> Once I realized that, I saw you—and your dagger—by that house. I didn’t want to walk the streets unarmed.>

< _You_ know how to use a weapon? > Radjerd doubts it.

<I’ve read up on combat—but—it’ll only take me so far.> He slouches his head. <I’ve been lucky no one thought to rob me.>

Radjerd smiles. That means that kid had money. Why else would he say something like that unless he had possessions on his person?

<Reading and doing are two different things.>

<I know …which, is why I’m hoping you’ll help. If you help me rescue my sister—my father will reward you handsomely, and I promise, once the King is well, we will get you your audience.>

<If the Princess is returned, I assume he’ll take requests.>

< _If_ she’s returned. > The teen mutters. <If you ask me, whoever kidnapped her is doing the country a huge favour.>

<Why would you say that about _Dee—Princess Cordelia_. > Radjerd corrects himself. The kid doesn’t notice.  

<You see, my father always hoped that my eldest brother would take a liking to her—he was Princess Cordelia’s tutor for a couple of years—but, she dismissed him out of spite. She’s not easy to teach and gets frustrated when she doesn’t understand a concept. Instead of _trying_ to learn, she pointed fingers at him and demanded she had a tutor more competent. That slander cost him his reputation! >

<Maybe he wasn’t worth his salt.> Radjerd shrugs.

<You _don’t_ know the Princess as I do. She’s a right witch. >

Radjerd’s expression darkens. He doesn’t like this kid’s tone. <Don’t speak poorly about those you know nothing about.> His growl forces the teen to fasten his lips.

<I know her. She’s a witch.>

Radjerd’s fists tighten, but he has to restrain himself.

< _If_ I help you, will you _promise_ to get me an audience with the King? >

<Once my sister is rescued, you’ll have that and more.>   

<Then you have yourself a deal.> Radjerd narrows his violet eyes. <Now, you said you were misled—but by who?>  

<A lot of thieves and miscreants live near the border, St. Antillans are quite notorious for being badbloods—> _Right, that’s it!_ Radjerd grabs the boy’s sleeve, yanking him forward.  <I didn’t mean offence, but it’s true! You’re well spoken for your kind, which, I’m quite curious about—>

<You’re as young as you are stupid.> This boy can help him get into the palace, Radjerd has to remember that. He couldn’t roughhouse with the teen—even if it was tempting. He groans, letting go of the boy.

<I’m seventeen.> The teen remarks while fixing his composure.

<It doesn’t matter how old you are, but if you want to work with me—don’t say shit that’ll get your lights knocked out.>

<You’re right. I’m sorry—uh—>

Right. The boy needed something to call him. Giving the kid his name was risky, even if they are on the same side. He’d go with his father’s middle name.

<Oland. And what do I call you?>

<Leander.> The teen named Leander sticks out his hand. <Pleasure to be working with you.>

Radjerd takes the boy’s hand, tightening his grip.

His luck has either turned around—or—he was making a big mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a new friend by Radjerd's side, we finally progress onwards! 
> 
> It's good to be back! We're going to enter interesting territory with this instalment so get ready! 
> 
> This is going to be fun. ;;;;;))))))
> 
> Rose


	12. Chapter 12

The afternoon sun peeks through the periwinkle satin curtains. The gentle warm rays hit Cordelia’s forehead, stirring her from her slumber. Her night-chemise is soft against her skin.  She frees herself from her silk sheets, heart stopping as her gaze hits the familiar countryside portrait.

She’s in her bedroom.

Panic engulfs Cordelia as her mother’s piercing eyes enter her mind. Her mother said nothing—her own conclusions forming in her head. After they arrived at the palace, she was made to travel the secret corridor—as her mother uttered _come along_ in a commanding, unwelcome tone. She was brought to her bedroom, the door closed.

A healer dropped by her chambers moments later, administering her a tea—a bit of lemon, infused with something minty. That would explain the restful sleep she had—the tea laced with some kind of potion, no doubt. The telltale teacup teeters along the edge of her marble end table. One minor bump and it would shatter into pieces.

A maid must have undressed Cordelia from the performance clothes she wore if she’s in her nightdress. She’s shocked her mother hadn't said a word about her attire. To throw Cordelia into the carriage without reason—her mother’s no better than the thief named Radjerd. Yet, why did she prefer his company to that of her mother’s? He oppressed her in his own right—forcing her hand with the promise of her belongings. Then why did a longing pang erupt so suddenly that tears streamed down her cheeks?

She closes her hand, gripping her silky bed sheet. His warm, comforting heat is what she craves. It’s cold in this bed alone. What makes it worse, is that miles away from the man who had kidnapped her.

Only to end up in a worse prison— _home._

The large marble door creaks open, a lean, well-dressed woman enters her room without permission. Her hair is in a tight, fashionable bun—wisps of grey give her a distinguished charm. It’s an accurate depiction for Lady Emily Cornborough; her mother’s Lady in Waiting. Cordelia promptly wipes her eyes. She doesn’t want the hassle of explaining herself to the old-fashioned tart.

Cordelia knocks the end table, the teacup falls on the plush ornate rug. The pale yellow liquid spills, revealing that Cordelia didn’t consume the entire cup. She instinctively bites her lip, the urge to apologize rising to the surface.

“I trust the tea helped you sleep soundly.” That suggests it was Lady Cornborough that administered the dose. “It’s the same brew we gave your mother to relax her when her pains started.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary—who knows how long I’ve slept.” Cordelia finds it unsettling that her mother’s companion would think to give Cordelia something meant to aid in childbirth. Unease creeps in as she clenches her fist.

“You were in _hysterics,_ the healer told me. Speaking in the Antillan tongue—like you’ve been devastated.”

“I’ve never—I didn’t.” She begins but is promptly shushed by the older woman.

“It’s understandable—your trauma. It’s harrowing when you let the imagination run wild.” The older woman’s gloved hand presses against her lips. “I do hope your …innocence was spared. That would prove troublesome for your mother.” Cordelia bristles. Lady Cornborough never failed to speak her mind. Her mouth widens, “Please tell me I’m wrong.”

“Does it make a difference? Mother’s going to send me away regardless.” Cordelia sighs; helplessness overrides her. She might as well be heading towards the guillotine.

“You poor girl.” She lowers her head in shame. “It’s best to keep your mother ignorant—it could _complicate_ matters. The King specifically requested a virtuous bride—as a member of royalty is entitled to. To think that _barbarian_ we locked away ruined you. I should have him executed.”  

Cordelia refrains from smiling. Did she think Freydis’s henchman was at fault? Which reminds her—Freydis and Branton must have been brought to the palace. They would have been blamed for her kidnapping—if only by association. She can’t remember what happened that night—shock clouded her memory.

“Princess, I don’t see what the humour of this situation is. An illegitimate heir is nothing to celebrate.”

Cordelia scrunches up her nose. “You have the wrong idea.”

“Thank goodness, you gave me quite a scare!”  

Lady Cornborough did have a point—it would be disastrous for her mother if a child results from her union with the thief. Yet, the inconvenience would be the worst of it. Her reputation was soiled from her apparent _behaviour_ , and disinheritance wasn’t as daunting as it once seemed. A baby could be delivered to the doorstep of a church, she wouldn’t need to raise it.

“Where are the bandits?” Cordelia asks.

“In the dungeons.”

Serves Freydis right for trying to kill her. Lady Cornborough’s watchful eye examines her face. Cordelia’s mouth stays flat. Any form of amusement and the woman will jump to conclusions. Time to change the subject.

“Surely there’s a reason why you’re here.”

“There is. Your mother requests your presence in the Family Chamber. She’s worried about your state of mind.” Only because she _wants_ this marriage to go well.

“I can’t believe my mother still wants me to marry the King—after everything that I went through.” Cordelia embellishes.

“It’s only to keep you safe. You must act quietly, only the palace staff knows of your arrival. There are unforeseen forces lurking underneath the grounds of Wellspring—who seek the end of the Royal Family. It troubles your mother to send you so far away.”

Is that why they forced her to travel in secret. What in heaven’s name was her mother conjuring up? Cordelia wryly laughs, “A likely excuse to get rid of me and strengthen our military. When Mother sees fit, she’s going to send me off to that old man.” She frowns. “So much for keeping me out of the spotlight.”  

“Princess, please. Allow your mother to explain.” Lady Cornborough walks toward Cordelia’s closet. “Here, let me assist you. We have a lot of work to do.”

Cordelia stands up, allowing Lady Cornborough to guide her to the closet. She recalls Freydis’s words—the Delteans were after her. Is that the group her mother’s trying to protect herself against? She thought they were a group of bandits—from the sounds of it—they could be menacing. If that was the bandit group Freydis referred to, Cordelia had to know;  _why_ did the Delteans scare her mother so much?

That’s what she wants to find out.

 

Cordelia hates this place.

The Grand Family Chamber. With its daunting beams, old portraits of frowning faces, and accusatory stares—it’s easy to see that the Kings and Queens of old are related to her mother. Dressed in a pale pink gown, and an innocent yet becoming bun, Cordelia’s suspicious that Lady Cornborough is playing up her virtue. She even added rouge to the underline of her cheekbones to insinuate a childlike innocence. Good god. Her mother wasn’t in the room, but Cordelia takes a seat on the carven oak settee.

Sitting down, Cordelia’s corset pinches her waist. She hadn’t needed them—corsets were a chosen fashion—but the older woman insisted that proper poise would show her mother that this experience had rounded Cordelia, instead of the older woman’s presumed _traumatization._ Little to the Lady’s knowledge, Cordelia was most definitely rounded. And she’d delight in being well rounded again—especially by the thief’s hands. Her heart sinks—if she ever sees him again.

Her mother’s curt tone perks up her ears, the woman’s silver gown swishes as she walks. Cordelia sits up straighter than usual, the fear of her mother’s judgement apparently still lingers.

Something she doesn’t expect: her mother’s expression softens her eyes rest on Cordelia. Cordelia doesn’t trust the concern on her mother’s face. She arches in her seat— _here it comes._  

As her mother attempts to speak, a man bursts into the room—he scoops Cordelia towards him, his arms tight around her waist—where the corset was digging into her.  

“I was worried sick—my girl—my darling.” His hands mess up her well-done hair, and her makeup once he cups her face. “I’m so relieved you’re alive!”

“For goodness sakes Aleck, show some restraint. I told you, she brought this upon herself.” 

“Any wonder why,” He speaks, his focus still on his daughter. “The way you and the Council were gallivanting our daughter around like she’s some sort of pawn. You knew I didn’t agree—yet you seek the approval of _them_ when my opinions don’t suit you.” Her father disapproved? This was news to her.

“Please Father, let me go.” Cordelia pleads. He listens, easing off of her. He sits on the couch, holding her hand. Her mother glances at the doors, waiting for the guards to close them shut. Her emerald eyes linger.

_Click._

Cordelia’s posture tightens.

“Now listen to me carefully. You’re fortunate that this little stint of yours didn’t get you killed. You worried your father sick—he thought you were taken against your will. If I didn’t take matters into my own hands, you would have been.”

Cordelia remains silent. Her mother had the incredible effect of striking fear into her.

“There’s no point trying to run away, either. The Guards have been instructed to bar off any alternative methods of escape. It was foolish of me not to anticipate this from the start.”

“Mother, I have no intention of marrying this St. Antillan King! I am _not_ to be used as some sort of heir producing broodmare.”

Her mother pauses, “Is that what you see me as? I assure you, a Queen’s purpose is not only to produce heirs—although that is a notable one. Two heirs are required. Hereafter, you may do as you wish.”

“Two?! That seems ludicrous when you only had one. Not that it matters, I’m _not_ having children.”  

“That’s not up to you. Wellspring requires a lineage that can guide them through the ages—The Islands of St. Antilla also count on a ruler to guide them.” Cordelia should have expected that answer. “Running away will only stain your reputation. We had to make it look like a kidnapping—to _protect_ your virtue. You can count your lucky stars that he’s willing to take you as his bride. Especially after your falling reputation.”

“Merise!” Her father cuts in. “I told you—that man isn’t right for our daughter. _She’s_ sprightly, _he’s_ wearing thin. He won’t make her happy.”

“It’s not about her happiness, Aleck. I told you—Duty before Family—or have you forgotten?”

“You just want his armies—don’t hide it.” Cordelia briskly remarks. “I’m nothing but a means to you—I always have been.”

“Yes, Cordelia—we need the extra protection. The Council assured me that this was the best move to protect Wellspring. There’s trouble brewing, and we must be prepared. We must do whatever we can to ensure our survival.”

“No. This is where I put my foot down. Our daughter’s happiness may not matter to you, but it does to me. I assure you, I’ll be sending a messenger to St. Antilla—Cordelia is _not_ for sale.”

“Aleck—you _know_ why we can’t do that.” Her mother warns.

“I don’t care. I’ve never overruled you before, but now …I have to. As your husband, and King.”

Her mother’s eyes vibrate with anger. “I don’t do this to be vindictive—our daughter’s safety is at risk! You don’t get to step in and _play_ monarch whenever you feel like. Even after twenty years, you still don’t understand the credence.”  

His cheeks are reddened with fury. “Here I am, _deciding_ to put our daughter first! I don’t care if it violates Duty before Family—she is _not_ marrying that man. _End of discussion.”_

Her mother briefly glances at Cordelia before she stands up. “You’re making a big mistake that could put Cordelia’s life at risk, Aleck.” She points a finger at her husband. “I’ll see that the Council overrule you.” She slams open both doors, leaving in a distressed mess.

“Wow.” Cordelia turns to her father, her eyes wide with intrigue. “You really do love me.”

“So does your mother—listen, Cordelia…” He reverts to his composed posture. “I know why she wants you to leave Wellspring—and I’ve been cursed to hold this knowledge since I married her. Your mother fears for your safety.”

“Why did she search for me then, if this palace is _oh so dangerous._ ” Cordelia crosses her arms, eyebrows furrowed.

Her father looks away, his steel blue eyes bare worry. “I used to tell you stories of a magical princess when you were little.”

“I remember.”  

“You see, Cordelia. That tale is true.”  

“You’re not insinuating that _I’m_ the magical princess…”

“Oh—no!” Aleck interjects. “That would be impossible. What I meant to say, is that there was a magical princess—who lived in these very walls. Until she and her people will brutally murdered. It was a genocide.”  

Cordelia sits in silence, taking a couple of moments to breathe. Her patient father sits with her, his eyes glued to the tile floor. Cordelia’s mouth gapes open, images of their own knights massacring innocent civilians. Her imagination takes it further—imagining the wails and screams of women and children murdered by sharp swords and menacing grins.  

 “When you say _genocide_ , is it because people weren’t paying their taxes, or because they fell short on prayers, or—maybe the _magical_ princess was _spoiled rotten_ on her nineteenth birthday.” Her words are hollow, remembering how the people of Wellspring perceived her. Did that mean she was at risk for murder, too?  

“Take a deep breath, my girl. It’s nothing like that. These people were sought out for their abilities—killing them put the rest of humankind on an equal playing field. I don’t agree with their actions, it’s heinous to kill simply because we don’t understand.”

“So you’re telling me, everyone with magical powers was _killed?_ If this Magical Princess was killed as well, I assume that means her family was too.”  

“It was. The knights that turned on the family of knights took over. The commander and his wife were given the roles of King and Queen, and later, their lineage became the line that you and your mother descended from.” He raises his head. “Cordelia, I’m impressed you’re taking this so well. Wellspring has been forced to think of magic users as nothing but a fairy tale.”

“What I don’t understand, is that there had to be a reason that those knights killed all magic users. Did those people threaten anyone with their abilities?” _Which daunting monarch on the wall was the one to deliver the killing blow._  

“From their perspective, it would have been a matter of time.” Her father sighs. “This is why I don’t mess with the matters of state. Your mother says my soft heart will be the end of my rule…” He laughs gently, aware that it’s inappropriate. “I’m surprised you’re taking this well. I expected you to tell me I was losing it.”

“Father …I met someone with magic. They didn’t have elemental powers, but they—I can’t explain how—but they killed a group of monsters on sight.”

“So, your mother does have the right to be concerned.” Her father crosses his arms. “Were they part of the Delteans?”

Cordelia briefly heard that name before. “No, they work with some other group.

“They’re the ones who threatened us.” Her father whispers.

“Listen, I think our two prisoners might know something about the Delteans.” Cordelia stands up. “Let me talk to them.”

“Not until the morning. Your mother and I need to come to an agreement—and I’m certain she’ll have the council vetting for her as we speak. I need to soften her up before we come up with a plan.”

“You are the _King_ , Father. Whatever you say, goes!”

“Not when your mother’s concerned. She’ll be very upset when I tell her what I’ve shared with you.”

Great, another reason for her mother to be at odds.

“I’ll get Colin to work with me, he’s a person we can trust. He’ll follow you to the dungeons when you question the prisoners. From what your mother told me, the language barrier is too much for our guards to handle. She’s working on a translator, but, maybe you’d be someone they would open up to.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I noticed that you didn’t say anything about the two—which means that the three of you must be in cahoots.”

God, maybe her mother was right about having her father be on the sidelines. He didn’t read a situation well.  

“Fine, I’ll wait until the morning.”

“I know what I told you is hard to digest. Sleep on it, and I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

That’s where her father was wrong. There’s no way she’d sleep a wink tonight.


	13. Chapter 13

_Lady Fennica Strauss—Fenli for short_. _Long red hair, hazel eyes. Small for a woman her age._ Those were the exact words that Leander used to describe his sister. From the lad’s description, she looked nothing like her brother. Radjerd asked the Leander if they were any motives for the kidnapping, but no, he couldn’t think of any. There were no ransom notes, so Radjerd’s first guess is that the kidnapper might have some ill intentions. No one kidnaps a duke’s daughter for no reason. He didn’t want to mention that to the teen, there was no sense filling his head with scenarios that are based on speculation. Judging by his gloom, Leander was likely playing each excruciating scenario through his mind.  

Walking on foot for most of the day had been taxing, stopping in two border towns along the way. This was their third—past the Wellspring Border. Most of the people here spoke Weltish—Radjerd let Leander do all the talking. It made troublesome for interrogations when one couldn’t speak the language.

Because of this, they had _no damn leads._

<Looks like you could use this, Oland.>

The moppy-haired teen hands Radjerd a bowl of soup. Oland is the name Radjerd addressed himself as—to cover suspicion. The middle name of his father; it sure came in handy in times like this.  

He cups the soup bowl. <Where did you get this?>

<The vendor over by the gate.>

<A vendor, selling _soup? > _

<Stew.> Leander corrects him. <And yes, as improbable as that may be, he was handing out samples to test the flavour. It’s spicy, so I assumed you’d like it.> That explains why the kid had none. Damn Weltish folk didn’t appreciate the finer tastes—but then why would the Vendor sell it? Maybe to appeal to the _small_  number of Antillan folk living here.

<Bold assumption.> Radjerd’s stare is flat.

<I didn’t mean it that way. Most spices come from your lands, _not_ mine—don’t try to make this something that it’s not. > Apparently, Radjerd struck a nerve; Leander narrows his eyes as he jams his fists in his pockets. <We have nothing—and daylight’s falling. My sister’s brave, but how long can that last? She’s probably scared out of her wits, and I’m no better than I am when I first started off.>

<Listen, you said you had an older brother. Where is he in all of this?>

<He’s not home—he had to travel overseas to find work. No thanks to the _princess._ > Leander mutters. <I doubt he knows.>

<Your father wouldn’t have sent a letter?>

<He wants Elton to prosper in his teachings, so I doubt he’d send word of Fenli’s kidnapping.> Leander sighs. <Didn’t you say you had a sister?>

<I did. Her name was Serilda. Died when I was young.>

Leander's face softens. <I'm sorry to hear that. What from?> 

<Complications.> Radjerd frowns. <She got sick, we couldn’t afford a healer.>

Leander frowns. <A shame...>

<Be glad you’re born lucky. Not all of us are.> Radjerd wondered what kind of person his sister would have been—but his ma had rarely talked about her. She had a renewed purpose when they adopted Freydis. A sinking feeling overtakes Radjerd. He’s still not over what he had done to his best friend—she'll never forgive him.

<What’s our next move?> Leander asks.

<Most kidnappers won’t pass through the border towns in the day's middle.> Radjerd wants to add that he knew from experience. He’s smart enough not to. This kid need not know what he does for a living. Radjerd slurps his stew, but Leander recoils at his poor manners. It’s not Melandra’s chowder, but it’ll do.

Radjerd continues, <I have an idea where we can go.> The best place for Intel is The Locke Manor. The idea is sudden. He didn’t want to go back—especially after how he had left things. Freydis could have ratted him out—she would have had every right to. But, they were on borrowed time. If they didn’t act soon, there may be no sister left to save. Radjerd’s prickled with nerves. <It’s risky, but this place is  _filled_ with gossip of all natures. >

 < _How_ is it risky?>

<I didn’t leave the manor on good terms.> Radjerd awkwardly smirks.

<So you’re risking your head, and mine by association?>  

<Don’t give me lip. I’m risking my neck for you.> Radjerd warns.   

<Means nothing if you’re recognized.>

<Test my patience again…> He snarls, <I’ll leave you in this dump to fend for yourself.>

<…Sorry.> The boy slumps his shoulders. <I’m tired, and my feet hurt. I haven’t done this much walking in all of my life.>

<I’ll give you that—you’re far from the capital.> Deely’s detour around the guards made their journey unnecessarily long. Radjerd forgets that the path to Wellspring wasn’t even half a day away.

<Where is this Locke Manor?>

<It’s not far. They host nightly parties—so there should be some interesting folk there. No full moon so that means the ball’s out.> And, that might have been beneficial for him. Fewer people there that would recognize him. <Can you buy me a new garb—something a little _fancier? > _

<A disguise? I can do that.> He sounds more open to the idea now. <There’s a fabric store down the way—they have these great Antillan robes that should hide your identity. Don’t worry about the price.>

Radjerd’s fingers itch—no—he wasn’t stealing from the boy! No matter how high the temptation. <If it’s on your tab, I won’t.>  

They walk to the clothing vendor, Radjerd eying the reds and purples—he chooses the dark purple. It reminds him of Deely’s dancing outfit. His gut convulses—she looked _hot_ in that garb. Leander talks to the vendor and she grabs the outfit for him, encouraging Radjerd to get changed in the little stall behind the counter. A long mirror leans next to the wooden pole keeping the walls together.

Radjerd can’t get over the soft texture of his woven silk sherwani—golden embroidery lines the collar. He wore dark slim-fitting trousers, the fabric too soft to make his legs itchy. Radjerd can’t help but wonder what Deely would think of his new look. He slips his dagger on the loop of his belt, tucked underneath the cloth.

If the lad’s impressed, he must look the part.

<No one would expect you’re lower class.> He gasps.

Radjerd pulls a face. <Thanks.>

<You kind of bear a resemblance to your King, now that I look at you.> Leander hums. <Wait, is _that_ why you speak so well—you’re not…!? >

<I’m not King Ryne’s bastard—I assure you. My father has eyes like mine—Ma would never lie.>

<True, your King doesn’t have those striking eyes.> Leander ponders aloud. <Should I get a disguise too?>

<No, Weltish are accepted at the Locke Manor—they aren’t biased. You might even get lucky—if you play your cards right.> Radjerd raises a suggestive brow.

<I don’t think that’s possible for me.> Leander sighs.

<How do you know that? You attracted to spiders or something?> Radjerd laughs.

<No! It’s nothing weird—well— _too weird._ My father tells me that I shouldn’t—you know what, let’s keep focused. I don’t want to lose any more time. > The boy cuts himself off abruptly. Radjerd wouldn’t press—everyone’s entitled to their secrets. After all, the teen wasn’t aware of his association to the Princess of Wellspring. He’d like to keep that under wraps for as long as he can.   

 

They were minutes away from the Locke Manor—the windows lit with warm, glowing light. His breath quickens—pulse heightened. He better do well not to get caught. Eagerness mixed with adrenaline draw him forward—such is the nature with his line of work. It’s part of the thrill.

<Are you ready?> Leander asks.

Radjerd nods, stepping forward. Now was his time to turn on his charm.

They enter the doorway, no one blocks the entryway this time. A more casual event, since there’s no full moon tonight. Back to the familiarity of the lightly scented foyer—it’s less noisy, too. That’s good for the meek companion by his side. Now, was his time for perusal.

Eyes are upon Radjerd as he enters the ballroom. There’s no face in sight he recognizes. _Perfect. Now, where to start?_ He sees a woman near the buffet table, dressed in a lacy purple Weltish gown. Her brown hair in loose ringlets around her tanned face. If it weren’t for the stew that Leander brought him, he’d be digging in right away. He saunters over, doing his best to make a good impression.

<Miss,> He leans his head forward, smiling eagerly. <I have a question for you.>

<Not loud, hmm?> She giggles. Dammit, she didn’t speak his tongue well. He needed to try someone who spoke his language. He turns away—missing the disappointment on her face. Onto the next.

 

Radjerd’s soles are sore, his new shoes hard to break into. He had to endure the soreness and keep focus. He walks back to the foyer, looking for the moppy-haired teen. Did he find his _acquired_ taste after all? Radjerd grins momentarily; it falls as he sees the hall of the east wing, where he and _Deely_ overstayed their welcome.

Radjerd searches the open rooms, _no Leander in sight._

That sinking feeling returns. Radjerd braces himself—he’s tempted to revisit the room. There’s no chance his belongings—or Deely’s would be in there. He had to rely on Melandra’s kindness—if it weren’t for her thoughtfulness, he’d be weaponless right now. What the hell.

Radjerd opens the room door—it’s unlocked. The red satin sheets were neatly folded—the window completely replaced. That was fast! But, as he expected, they left behind nothing. Just the memories remain. 

_Fuck._

Radjerd closes the door. He didn’t need to feel sombre. He needed to wrangle Leander; they were getting nowhere here either. Frustration grows with each breath. He _had_ to get into the palace—before Deely’s gone for good.

Had Leander wandered upstairs? Only one way to know for sure. Radjerd paces up the wooden stairwell—he hears the lad’s voice through an open door—he follows it to discover him talking to a blond man— _the_ blond man Deely was dancing with. He glowers as he enters the room.

The well-dressed man looks up, his green eyes studying Radjerd.

<Oland, this is Edward Locke. He knows where Fenli is!> Leander says with glee. <She’s at the abandoned Cathedral near the Capital.>

<And how would you know where the girl is?> Radjerd raises a brow.

<Please, sit. I mean neither you harm—at least not _yet_. > He laughs cordially, inviting Radjerd to sit next to Leander on the ornate red settee. <Yet, there’s something familiar about your well-dressed companion—what could that be?>

<Oland? Oh—no—h-he’s never been here.> The lad stutters. He’s terrible at this.

<No, I believe he has—I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.> The blond says coolly as he folds his hands together. <Ah, you’re the man the fair Princess was travelling with that night, aren’t you?>

<No, he travelled with no Princess. She got kidnapped, there’s no way.> Leander interjects.

<So I heard. Yet, I saw her here with my own two eyes—with your companion right over here. Or, did he leave that out?>

<Surely, you’re mistaken!>

Shit. Whatever this man was trying to pull, he’s doing it. Radjerd better turn this around before Leander gets spooked. <…Yes, I was in the company of the Princess—but I didn’t kidnap her. She was craving freedom, and I brought it to her.>

Leander stares at him in stunned silence.

<True—she didn’t look like she wanted to escape—in fact—I could hear her delight in your company down the hall.>

The lad squeaks.

<I notice she’s not in your company now. Why is that?> The blond man grins.

<Because _she_  took her from my care.> Radjerd grumbles. 

<Ah, that’s right. By the woman you betrayed. I should have known it was you from your stare, but when I saw dear Freydis passed out on the floor with barely a scratch on her—I should have guessed it was you, _Radjerd Laurius. > _ 

Shit. Radjerd moves his hand back—there’s no covert way to pull out his dagger.

<You did _not_ kidnap Princess Cordelia?!> Leander shakes.

 <Don’t fault this man for it—she is a rather breathtaking woman—even if she’s rumoured to be a shrew. Maybe it’s that pent up energy—bedding a royal must have been quite a feat for someone of your standard. How did her skin feel against your fingers? Luxurious, I bet.>  

<I can’t believe it— _you’re the one who kidnapped the princess… > _Leander whispers in disbelief. <It’s because of you why my father had no luck with the King!> 

Radjerd had to diffuse the situation—quickly.

<She asked me to escape—she was to marry—and she didn't agree with the arrangement.> 

<That’s what she’s _supposed_ to do—you didn’t have to help her.> Leander narrows his eyes. <Or bed her.>

Edward raises a brow. <Surely it’s nothing to worry about—you won’t be getting your hands on the Princess. Our Freydis is delivering her back to the palace as we speak, where _Princess Cordelia_ can marry and unite both kingdoms—as your friend said.>  

<To force Deely to marry—that’s the travesty.> Radjerd growls, his violet eyes darken. <Now, you’ll be letting us go.>  

Edward clasps his hands together. <You’re not going anywhere. It has quite upset my friends that you denied their invitation.>

Fear trickles down his spine. No, he can’t be talking about _them._

<What friends? I don’t see a damn person here!>

<I was tipped when you arrived—I have eyes everywhere.> Damn bastard looks smug with himself.

<Look, I wasn’t a part of the kidnapping—I’m just here to find my sister.> Leander pleads. <I didn’t know this man before last night!>

<Oh—no worries, boy. You’re going to be reunited with her _shortly_. >

Radjerd leaps from his spot, focusing on the man. If he moves an _inch_ , this man will catch his death.

He doesn’t understand Edward’s wicked grin until he reveals a silver-rimmed wristband with a blue jewel adorning the middle. <You might have _the curse_ , but I’m willing to test my luck.>

<That’s a magic-nullifying bracelet—> Leander squeaks. 

<You are quite educated.> Edward smiles. <But that’s where you're wrong. Magic exists—and we’ll rightfully take down Wellspring. I _will_ get my kingdom back from the ones who stole it from us.>

<You’re the King’s Bastard!?>

<No. What I _am,_ is the rightful heir. The shews who inhabit the throne are _not_ the rulers of Wellspring.> He curses. <I am no bloodline of those murderers. The real line of Wellspring was taken by their hands!>

<Then it’s true…> Leander speaks softly. <I thought it was mere speculation what I overheard that day—no—why do you have my sister!? She won’t help you if _you’re_ behind her kidnapping!>

<She’ll thrive better with us than in _their_ rule. I promise you, boy, we’re treating her well. > He gets up from his desk, Radjerd steps forward.

<I may not have gifted blood, but I assure you—my companions do.> Edward smiles. <So be mindful before you use your curse on me.> The twinkle of the sapphire jewel catches his eye—glowing brighter as Radjerd focuses his energy. It’s like his essence is being pulled from his very core. He might not be able to use his magic, but he could surely fight the man. Radjerd unsheathes the dagger, lunging over the desk. He reaches for the man’s bracelet, but a nasty jolt shocks him—it hurts! He recoils in pain, gritting his teeth.

<You can’t destroy it—it’s immune to even your charms.> Edward’s laugh is almost a cackle—pissing Radjerd off further. <It’s a shame you couldn’t have killed the Princess yourself—like I asked you to. You had to go and  _fuck_ her instead.>

<But you’re not—> In this moment, Radjerd realizes he’s been set up. Edward posed as the king’s bastard so he could kill two birds with one stone... Deely wasn’t the one Edward was after.

_It was him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy... So, is this a bad time to tell you guys that there will be no To Kiss a Princess next week? ^_^" 
> 
> While looking back on previous chapters, I realized so many mistakes it makes me cringe. I need time to clean them up, and a week should about do it. No worries, this won't occur often. I want To Kiss a Princess to be the best it can be for you guys. <3 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and hey, speculate in the Discord. Who knows, I might even give away some teasers in there! ;;) 
> 
> Rose


	14. Chapter 14

“Princess—your mother requests your presence.” Lady Cornborough stops her in the hall.  

“You may tell my mother I graciously reject her request—I have other arrangements.”

“Not to press, but it has to do with your marriage.”

“My father said she’d get the council on her side, but he’s the king. Can they really outweigh the king’s wishes?”

“They have before…” Lady Cornborough says softly.

“Well, I’m sure King Ryne doesn’t want a bride kicking and screaming at the alter—which I assure you I’ll do.” Cordelia narrows her eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” Cordelia’s instincts tell her of her mother’s intentions—she’ll want to talk about the marriage. _No. Now’s not the time for depressing thoughts._ Cordelia has a mission she needs to fulfil.

Cordelia lifts her pale green skirts, hurrying down the hall. To her luck, Lady Cornborough doesn’t follow. She has to find Colin—he’d be in the knights’ quarters. Her father would have spoken to him, so she wouldn’t have to prime the man to allow her into the dungeons. Or, at least she _hoped_ he did.

Her feet carry her swiftly to the west wing.  

Cordelia searches for a blond man, with dark brown eyes. She sees a man of his description; kept blond hair with clean, glistening armour. She met Colin once, as she rarely travelled to the knights’ quarters. Hopefully, he’s the right man.

“Pardon me for intruding—” Immediately, the room comes to a halt. Having everyone stand to attention like this—it feels _strange_.  

“Princess, to what we owe the pleasure of this visit?” The captain of the guard greets her graciously. His thick brown mustache hit his top lip, which added to his distinguished nature.

“I’m here to talk to Sir Colin Randsgrove—he’s to escort me on a private request.”

Colin paces quickly, approaching her. “His Highness briefed me—we’ll go down at your word.”

“Now, if it isn’t too much trouble. I worry that my mother will interfere if I remain here much longer.”

He withholds a smile—she didn’t need to say a word, did she?

Cordelia walks alongside Sir Colin. He’s a much taller man than she remembered; in fact, she swore he didn’t tower over her before. He must have had a growth spurt. His pale skin reddened as the two journeyed down the corridor.

“I have to say, Princess, I’m honoured to be accompanying you.” His aloof grin forces Cordelia to smile back.

“Anyone who can appreciate the difficulties of my mother is more than welcome to join me.”

“I didn’t say a word about the Queen.”

“You didn’t have to.” She grins back. “It was written all over your face.” And, that’s when it happens. The sudden reminder of her dead-end of a life. Her freedom ceased to exist. Cordelia fights back the moisture of her eyes; her posture stiffens. It’s poor timing; they’ve reached the dungeon gate.

“Are you alright, Princess?” Colin leans down, reaching her at eye-level. “Of course you’re not, after the trauma you’ve endured.”

“It’s fine. I had little sleep, and find myself quite tired.” Cordelia reassures him.

“Are you _sure?”_

“I am. Now, I have a job to do.” Cordelia clasps her hands, attempting to focus. She lets Colin work his magic on the guards—they allow the two to pass. Cordelia follows him down the daunting, dim-lit stairwell. The air is damp—smelling mustier with each step she took. Is _this_ where Freydis and Branton were being kept? _Yikes…_

 _< No favours for you tonight!> _The sound of a glass bowl smashing echoes through the hall. _That voice had to belong to Freydis._ Cordelia didn’t even want to know what kind of _favours_ the woman’s referring to.

“Princess!” The guard bows out of respect. “Why on earth are you down in the dungeons? This is no place for a person of your valour.”

“Please, don’t concern yourself. I’m here out of choice. I wish to talk to the prisoner.” She steps closer, eying Freydis. Her sea-blue eyes narrow intensely. Branton isn’t with her. “Where’s the man?”

“Down the hall, next to the window.”

Noted. “Thank you kindly. Please leave us be.”

“As you wish.” He bows, stepping away from the cell.

Freydis sits on a raggedy stool, leaning her back against the wall. The intensity of her stare makes Cordelia’s heart race. With a wry slant to her lips, she asks, <What does the Princess of Wellspring request of her kidnapper?>

Cordelia tries her best not to let Freydis goad her. <If you help me, I’ll lessen your sentence—even though I probably _shouldn’t_. > Cordelia mutters, narrowing her eyes to emphasize her point.  

<Now now…> Freydis stands, kicking the shards of glass in front of her. She saunters to the door, her fingers slowly wrapping around the bars. <If you want me to help you, I suggest you speak kindly to me, hmm? Maybe give me something _sweet_ for my troubles?>

Lifting a suspicious brow, Cordelia replies, <Didn’t you hear what I just said?>

<I did, sweetie—loud and clear. But that’s not going to help me _now_ , is it? I need something a little more tasteful—something _binding._ > Her grin grows wide with intrigue. <Like your lips.>

<My _what—no—you may not have my lips! > _Cordelia spits out in a huff.

<I don’t see the big deal—we’ve danced with our tongues before.>

<You forced some paralysis liquid down my throat—that’s _not_ the same thing.>  

<Suit yourself.> Freydis backs away, folding her arms together.

Cordelia groans. <…Do I have your word that you’ll talk?>

<Only if you pay up.> Freydis’s sea blue eyes sparkle. <I’m more than happy that the Princess yearns for my taste.>

<That’s not—> Cordelia calms herself. What’s the big deal—she’s kissed before—plenty of times. <—Never mind that.> She swiftly turns to Colin. “May you check the parameter—I want to ensure our other prisoner isn’t up to mischief.”

“But I was instructed by his highness—your father—to watch you at all times.”

“She tells me that her partner’s crafty—that it’s best to check up on him. Please, I urge you to be sure.”  

The knight sighs. “If that’s your wish…” He walks down the corridor, but Cordelia knew it wouldn’t be long. Fists clenched, she steps to the bars. <One kiss—before he comes back.>

Freydis sashays over, slipping a hand over Cordelia’s waist. With another, she brushes the strands of blonde hair away from her face. Inches away from her lips, Freydis smiles. <Whatever you want must be big, if you’re willing to surrender yourself to me.>

<Be on with it.> Cordelia says between clenched teeth. <We don’t have much time.>

Cordelia’s heartbeat quickens as Freydis nibbles her lip, edging her tongue around hers. Cordelia’s gasp is muffled—hear surges to her face. Freydis takes her sweet time—Cordelia grips the bars to keep herself upward.

<Just as I remember….> Freydis purrs fondly.

<Is this some kind of Antillan Ritual?>

<Don’t be silly—we don’t do anything of the sort—I just wanted to kiss you. Freydis laughs as she returns to her normal posture. <Now, what was it that you wanted to ask me?>

Cordelia fights to regain composure. <I-I wanted to ask…> Head cloudy form the embrace, she shakes her head. Did Freydis still have some of that elixir under her tongue?

<Spit it out, sweetie.> Freydis smirks, knowing full well the effect she had on Cordelia’s psyche.

<I want to know about the Delteans.> Cordelia says, noticing Sir Colin returning. He says nothing, letting Cordelia continue with the conversation.

<Delteans? Whatever for?>

She may as well be honest—it’s not like anyone in the palace could understand their conversation. <Because the Delteans are threatening my family.>

<That doesn’t make sense. They only care for magic-born people—unless—you’ve been hiding a little secret.>

<No, I don’t have magic.>  

<They wanted Rad to join their ranks, but he refused. He didn’t want to leave me behind, that big heart of his getting in the way of progress. Then again, they’re ruthless killers—we’re not. Mercy is our preferred option unless we have no other choice. But you knew that already—considering Rad fled with you in his arms the moment he bedded you.>

Cordelia flushes slightly.

<I guess that’s what happens when you’re raised by a ma as loving as Leanna is; _it makes you soft_. Fortunate that I didn’t turn out the same way he did—I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on his way to the palace as we speak. >

Would he? Cordelia doesn’t want to entertain the thought—it gives her too much hope. He’d be foolish to do such a thing—especially since her mother ensured her of her fate. 

<If he’s smart, he’ll stay far away.>

<We both know that’s not his style.> She laughs.

<Back to the topic at hand.> Cordelia purposely steers the conversation forward. <Do you know anything that can give us an edge against the Delteans?>

<I’m afraid not, but I’d like to know what they have on your family.>

<I can’t tell you that.> Cordelia knows to end the conversation here. <As promised, I’ll ensure that your sentence is light. My father is merciful.>

<I’m glad to hear it.>

<Well, I must take my leave.> Cordelia spins on her heel, walking quickly from the cell. She hears Freydis’s laugh echo through the corridor; she knows she got to Cordelia. Only Freydis would take great amusement from that thought.

Colin catches up as she runs up the stairwell, “Was she helpful?”

“Not as I’d hoped, but she did know _something.”_ The Delteans wanted magic-born individuals, which was easy to understand. The thing that surprises her is, they wanted the thief named Radjerd to join. With his abilities, they could have been unstoppable.

Was Freydis right—would the thief come back for her? If only he was here—her family might be able to employ him. More importantly, she might be able to see him again. She briefly touches her lips. Freydis reminds her just how much she misses his touch. God, what was happening to her?!

“Cordelia!” Of course, her mother would be at the dungeon gates. Was she never allowed peace in this godforsaken palace?! “To the Grand Chamber—now.”

 

 “Now that we’re alone…” Her mother brushes off her green ornate sleeves before she sits down on the ivory settee. “There’s no need to know _why_ you were skulking in the dungeons—because it won’t be happening again.”

Cordelia rolls her eyes. It’s not like she wanted to go back down there anyways—she had all the information she could get out of Freydis.

 “I have some news; King Ryne will be arriving within the week. He thought it best to visit you, which I think is quite considerate.”

“Great—just what I need. Did you tell him the wedding is off?”

“It’s not—in fact—it’ll be held right here in the palace.”  

“Father forbade the wedding!” Cordelia stands up, fists clenched. “He said so himself.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but your father has no idea what’s best for our kingdom.” Her mother looks to the side, eying an old family portrait. “He leads with his heart—but we’re up against forces that we know little about. I’d be a fool to assume he didn’t tell you about the Delteans.”

“Yes, he _did._ He said that’s why you’re marrying me off—to protect me.”

“That’s part of it.” Her mother clenches her emerald necklace.

“What else are you hiding?”

“I asked if we could have the wedding ceremony here in the palace. He seems to be in agreement—his brother will look after affairs in his absence.”

“Am I supposed to be happy that I’m getting married here, versus St. Antilla? I thought the whole idea was to _protect_ me—if the Delteans hear about the wedding, I’m sure they’ll plan an attack.”

“We have precautions in place should that happen.” Her mother’s eyes brim with uncertainty. _That’s reassuring._

“Let me guess, more secrets I can’t know about—which brings me to this question—why didn’t you tell me about the Delteans yourself?”

“Because I didn’t think they’d be a threat, Cordelia. They’ve been silent all this time—we were led to believe that they either perished or have moved on. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Yet you don’t think _this_ scares me?” Cordelia tenses. “Marrying a man I hardly know—to obey whenever he commands? You couldn’t have let me marry someone of my choosing—someone I could at least tolerate.”

“I told you why.”

“It’s not fair!” She shakes her head, her cheeks red with fury. “You married father—a man you loved!”

“You will learn to love him, Cordelia.”

Her voice boils with rage. “No, I won’t. He’s old—so old that he’d hardly be able to satisfy me.”

Her mother’s cheeks redden with embarrassment. “Cordelia—that’s hardly appropriate!”

In normal circumstances, she’d regret her words, but she’s too angry to care. “It’s plenty appropriate, _Mother._ I’m about to be married, aren’t I? I should be able to talk openly about such matters. But, since I have nothing to lose, I should inform you that I’m no longer pure. You’re handing the king a soiled bride.”

“I’d be a fool to assume otherwise…” She clenches her skirts. “Scoundrels out there would take the opportunity to defile you—and you’d be powerless to stop them.” Cordelia expects anger, not sympathy.

“You can’t expect this arrangement to go through—not after what I told you!”  

“Cordelia, what’s done is done. You’re not getting out of this arrangement, so your attempts to change my mind will be pointless. It has been ruled by the Council. You’ll learn to cope. I’ve taught you to be strong.”

“Yeah …whatever.”

“Cordelia, I’m doing this for everyone’s good. Please, understand this is what _needs_ to be done.”

“There’s nothing you can say to make this easier on me. But know this—you made an enemy in me—and father.”

Her mother recoils, but Cordelia storms from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Her father stops her in her tracks, grabbing both her shoulders as she looks up at him. “Colin told me that you chatted with the prisoner. How did it go—Delia?!”  

“She surpassed your wishes, father. That king’s going to be in the palace within the week, and I’m to be married soon after!” Tears spill from her eyes as she collapses onto her father’s chest. He rubs her back gingerly.

“My god—Merise, what have you done to our child?” Her father’s tone boils with anger. “I promise you, I’ll make this right.” He lets go of her, throwing open the door to the Grand Family Chamber.   

It wouldn’t make a difference, Cordelia tells herself.

She’s right back where she started.


	15. Chapter 15

<Eat.>

A man dressed in green faded robes thrusts two bowls forward, soon closing the metal cell gate behind him. Grey slop—not for taste, but pure sustenance. Radjerd recoils at the thought of another bite. The server watches them with narrowed brown eyes as Radjerd grabs the spoon, forcing it (and the slop) into his mouth. If there's one thing he's thankful, it's that everyone around these parts speaks Antillan. 

He hopes Leander can follow his example.

Satisfied, the man leaves. Radjerd turns his head to Leander, narrowing his eyes at the bowl.

<I can’t eat this for _another_ day.> Leander curls his lip, a groan escaping his teeth.  

<You’ll have to—we don’t have a choice.> Radjerd spits in a whisper. <You’re lucky I was able to convince them to keep you.> He reluctantly shoves another spoonful in his mouth.

<Yeah, I see you’re _loving_ the gruel.>

<Listen—some nights I was lucky to eat. I never got a break.>

Leander mumbles, <It’s a shame you can’t knock them out. I don’t know how much longer I can fare in here. And we _still_ haven’t found Fenli yet.>

Radjerd eyes the shackle on his ankle—that piece of metal was enchanted, keeping Radjerd’s abilities restrained. He should have knocked out the bastard that clamped the thing on him, but he was weak, bleary from the assault at the Locke Manor. Still dressed in his fine clothes from the market, but stripped of his weapons. Again. but that didn’t mean Radjerd didn’t have a plan up his sleeve. He volunteered as a guard—his first shift was tonight.

<As you know, I volunteered to work as a guard. I have to earn their trust.>

<I doubt that’s possible. If what Edward said was true—you’ve got tainted loyalties.> The light gleaming through the window showing off his reddened cheeks. <But you’re not _interested_ in her, are you? The princess, I mean.> His incredulous tone is one Radjerd doesn’t appreciate.  

<Interested isn’t the word, but it’d be wrong to leave her in the palace. She’ll whither at the hands of King Ryne.>

<Rather, you want her for yourself.> Leander lifts an unimpressed brow.

<I don’t wish to _own_ her. I wish to free her of her prison.>

<Says the man who kidnapped her.> He stiffly crosses his arms. <If I hadn’t met you beforehand, I’d call you a dangerous man.>

<I still am.> Radjerd growls. <But, I happen to be good to those who earn my trust. Deely has earned it.>

_< You have a pet name for her now? Good grief…> _

<Have you never been with a woman?> Radjerd smirks.

Leander’s face is beet red. <I told you, haven’t met one I wanted. Just because I don’t want to thrust my hips into one doesn’t mean I hate them. I don’t understand the hype, is all.>

<There’s nothing to understand—it’s an _urge._ > Radjerd shakes his head. <Look, it’s none of my business. Shouldn’t have goaded you.>

Leander carries on, <Listen, you seem a little lust-struck, so I’ll give you a tip. Cordelia _isn’t_ nice. Maybe she hasn’t shown you her selfish side yet, but she will. She did it with my brother, she’ll do it with you.>

Radjerd gruffly replies, <You’re starting to piss me off.>

<I’m not trying to start a fight with you. Just don’t want you getting sideswiped, is all.> Leander slouches next to his hay mattress.  <Your heart is in the right place, despite your history.>

<I know what it feels like to be caged. It’s why I can’t bear the thought of Deely’s predicament. She said herself she’d rather die than go home.>

Leander narrows his eyes, however, chooses to remain silent.

<Maybe you’re right, and she is a bitch. But, it might be warranted by her situation.>

<We’ll agree to disagree.> Leander says politely. <You should prepare for tonight—say—I’m surprised they’re even letting you out of here. Given that you gave Edward trouble and all.>

<I said I wanted to make up for my poor behaviour. Doubt they believed me, but they’re one man short. Giant spider got him apparently.> The teen shudders. <So they’re stuck with me until they get a replacement.>

<Maybe you could find my sister when you’re out there tonight?> Leander asks. <If you have a chance to. She’s here somewhere, and we haven’t been allowed to leave unless it was to relieve ourselves down the hall. Three days is all I can take in these conditions.>

<Rest assured, I’ll look for your sister— _If_ I get the chance to. You in the meantime translate those books. It’s the only leverage you have.>

<As menial as it is, translating is better than being dead.> Leander mutters. <I’ll put on the lantern.>

 

Radjerd’s training was swift. He’s shown around the cathedral—the dangerous spots (where the giant spiders roamed)—the well-guarded areas, and lastly, the main doorway. To the outside, this place was simply an abandoned cathedral, but the Delteans weren’t in the business of feeding the homeless. Only a few torches lit the halls—they didn’t want to give away their residency.

Guards stood at every corner, biding their time for an intruder. Wasn’t Radjerd told they were _short_ one guard? It’s frustrating—he hoped to find a place big enough for him and Leander to sneak off to. It seems they’re out of luck, for now. These things take time, Radjerd reminds himself. He needs to behave—at least until he found a way out. This was a waste of his time—maybe he could patrol another corridor.

Radjerd hadn’t explored the downstairs yet. Now might be the right time to do it.

<Is there anyone guarding the downstairs corridor?> Radjerd leans in, asking the guard near the door.

He edges backward, <I don’t think so. All yours.>

 With quickened steps, Radjerd paces down the dark, damp stairwell. He grabs a torch from the top—it wasn’t well lit. He hears coughing up ahead—the glint of the metal bars indicate that it’s another cell area.

Radjerd stops; Long red hair shines against the flame of his torch, hazel eyes stare right at him. Cooly, may he add.

She speaks, <I will _not_ take your bed. Leave me alone.> She hisses. <I’m not some whore to be dallied with. I’m a Lady.>  

<Listen, I have no such desire. I’m on duty—that is all.>

She gasps when she notes his violet eyes. <You’re _him. > _She stands up, waving her hand towards him. <The man with the Demon’s Curse.>

Radjerd has to catch up. She went from hissing at him, to calling him closer.

<Didn’t you warn me away?>  

<—Shut up and come over here.> She whispers harshly. <You’re also the man who foolishly brought my brother to these parts. If you _wanted_ to help the cause, you should have left him out of it.>

<Hey, the only boy I’m travelling with is…do you mean Leander?> His gut jumps with glee. Of course! <You’re Fenli then. We’ve been searching for you.>  

<I wish you hadn’t.> She lowers her head. <That kid brother of mine has no sense of direction or survival. I’m surprised he made it this long.>  

<I beg to differ—he’s risked a lot to find you. Show some gratitude for the boy.>

<...No, it’s not what you think. Is there anyone else down here?>

<It’s just me. The other guards are out on patrol.>

<Good.> She stands up, using the bars to assist her. Radjerd’s eyes widen when he sees that she’s stood up straight—the top of her head barely reaches his chest. God, she’s _tiny_.  <You’re also the man who kidnapped Princess Cordelia.>

<Gossip spreads fast, I see.> Radjerd frowns. <And it’s not like that. We’re friends.>

<Friends? Pardon my ill-spoken phrasing, but I’ve never seen the princess have a friend in her life.>

He glowers. Did every Weltish born noble have to dislike Deely? <You said I had some curse?>

<The Demon’s Curse, yes. It’s what they call it, your power. It can kill in a thousand-meter radius if you hone in on it—or so I heard. It’s pretty powerful.>

<That’s the first I ever heard of it.> Radjerd’s taken aback. <What’s your source?>

<It’s why the Delteans want you. You’re crucial to their invasion.>

Radjerd pales. Is _that_ what Edward meant?

<And, may I ask what your role in this _plan_ of theirs is?>

<I’m not sure if I should tell you—but It might better explain why I _don’t_ want you telling my brother that we spoke.>

<Why?>

She leans closer, her voice barely audible. <I’m here because Queen Merise sent me. She’s known about the Delteans for quite some time, and, she knew about my barrier ability. I can cloak everything around me up to a certain radius. She saw an opportunity and sent me to infiltrate their base—guised as a kidnapping to my father and brother. I had to feign anger and burning revenge against the palace for taking away my magic privileges. On the night of the full moon, I’m to lead them into the palace myself, leading them right to the Queen.>

<And what’s the Queen going to do?>

<That, she wasn’t clear on. All I know is she’d do anything to protect her kingdom—she has nothing against magic users. Or, she’d have me hanged.>

<She sent you to your doom.> Radjerd says plainly.

<No. It’s my duty as a citizen of Wellspring. I will do all that I can to help my nation prosper. If you want to help the princess, I suggest you act smart. Don’t fight the Delteans. Work with them—give them your loyalty—and I’m sure as hell when I say, don’t escape. If you do, you have no chance at ever seeing Princess Cordelia again, and, you’ll put my brother in danger.

He grits his teeth. Waiting it out isn’t his style. <But what if it’s too late?>

<I assure you, it isn’t. Now that we’re all together, they’re going to come up with a plan. I’d say give it a few weeks. We still have a month yet before the next full moon arrives.>

<A month?!> This is too much for Radjerd to take.

<You’ll have to trust me on this. If you want what’s best for everyone involved.>  

He grumbles, changing the subject. <What do I tell your brother? Surely, he’s going to be worried sick about you.>

<Tell him you found me, that I’m okay. But not that you spoke to me. Alright?—> Both jump when they hear a noise. <You better get out of here. Just please _please_ don’t do anything foolish. The minute we gain their trust, we can turn this situation around.>

Frustration burns deep within him, but he utters out a, <Fine.>

It would take all that Radjerd had to be patient. Deely’s future depends on it.


	16. Chapter 16

Cordelia is dressed in a silk crimson gown, paired with long matching gloves. Her hair is styled in a braid woven upon her head. A ruby necklace dangles graciously, resting nicely against her collarbone. She doesn’t want to be here, but her hand was forced. She glances around the throne room; an empty throne beside her mother. The council stood around her, all five members of greying hair watching intently with cool eyes. Her father was nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t a surprise to Cordelia. He had rarely shown anger towards her mother until she thrusted the St. Antillan King onto his daughter—against his wishes. His anger ran deep—barely able to speak two words to her mother. It’s a shame that he waited as long as he did to showcase his disapproval. If he had, maybe this mess would have been avoidable…

A tingling is felt at the soles of her feet as she steps forward, the eyes upon her is daunting. Her mother stares at her with an unrivalled coolness. Her face flushes in anger, but she has to keep up appearances. Her crimson dress was retaliation against her mother—she wasn’t fond of the colour. Which is why she had it freshly tailored. If she has to marry the king, she’ll have to meet him like _this._ Which, could be any moment. King Ryne and his entourage were due within the hour. Her steel blue eyes look directly at her mother. A smirk grows when she steps forward. Her mother’s curled lip is indication enough; she doesn’t like the dress. What a darn shame _that_ is. Cordelia takes her seat beside her mother, keeping her arms close to herself.

The room’s quiet, except for the sounds of her mother’s sharp breaths.

Cordelia smiles to herself. If this is the one way she can retaliate, then she’s glad she’s made her stand.

Within the hour, the large metal doors open; Cordelia’s heart stops as her mother hisses at her to rise. Her fate would be staring her in the face; she wants to look away. Knights line the room on both sides, as two men walk forward; her eyes on the striking young man beside the older King. His is white as ice, skin tanned like the desert sands. His piercing green eyes startle her. It almost makes her forget that her husband-to-be is beside him. Her pulse beats strongly within her ears, she can hardly hear the announcer. 

Both kneel, waiting for permission as King Ryne steps forward. His smile, while innocent, did not make Cordelia feel at peace. He waits for her to extend her hand, _so he could kiss it,_ she grimaces. With an inward sigh, she extends her gloved hand.

Cordelia says nothing; it’s challenging not to recoil in his presence. The elaborate blue sherwani is overtaken by silken robes—flashy in colour, yet complimenting his natural colours. His brown eyes soften as he gazes upon her. He’s a handsome man for his age, but, the thoughts of his lips being on her skin—within little time she reminds herself—repulses her. This is the man who would be in her bed—requiring her _services_ each evening, morning, or whenever he felt like it. She mustn’t fool herself.

“Your Highness.” She greets him, waiting for some hint of disapproval from the man. 

“I do say, you’re more beautiful since the last day I saw you.” He responds, his accent good for an Antillan born speaker. “That red dress becomes you.” There’s a purr to his whisper—goodness—he’s a lot bolder than he was before. Does he like it? Of course, She forgets she’s dealing with a St. Antillan man… He steps back, moving his arms to his side.

 “This is my right hand—Sir Gale Glass.”

“Your Highness.” The man named Gale bends his knee, lowering his head. His white locks frame his handsome face spectacularly. He holds her hand, leaning his forehead against it. This is…odd.

King Ryne kneels to address her mother, apologizing that he didn’t address her first. Her mother bears no mind, her eyes narrow at Cordelia. _What?_ She was playing the part of obedient princess—her mother had no reason to glare—unless the king’s alluring stare was somehow to be blamed for _her_ actions. How old fashioned could she be?

 

Dinner had passed, and Cordelia couldn’t eat a single thing off of her plate. Her stomach refused to touch food—her nerves too spiked. She couldn’t help but steal glances of her husband-to-be. Except, she saw that Sir Gale wasn’t eating much—or any—either. Was he nervous too? No, that’s silly—he had nothing to be nervous about. Well, maybe he was fearful that she wouldn’t make a good Queen for his nation.  

She didn’t think about that, instead, thinking about her role as Queen soon coming. She may be wearing a confident colour, but she didn’t feel that way. In fact, that made her position troubling. Bad royalty could be assassinated. From the response she heard from the townsfolk—the night she escaped—no one seemed to care about her here, did they? Given that she didn’t have any governing abilities to her name, there shouldn’t be many conflicting ideals.

This wasn’t a thought for now, Cordelia tells herself. She had plenty on her plate. She sits on the balcony, overlooking the Kingdom of Wellspring. The stars are twinkling throughout the atmosphere, laying like a blanket over the town below them. It’s a beauty unrivalled.

It shows even more so when the weight of the bench is shifted—she whips her head around to see King Ryne right beside her.  

“You’ve barely spoken a word to me.” He smiles as he covers her hand with his own. _“Darling.”_

“I’ve had a lot on my mind…” She assures him. It’s true—and—it wouldn’t be much longer until he had her all for himself. She shudders at the thought.

“Ah, yes. Why don’t you tell me, hmm?” He wraps an arm around her. St. Antillan or not, this wasn’t appropriate behaviour. Her mother wouldn’t approve of it—but she’d fault it to her dress. It wouldn’t be King Ryne’s fault…

“How about we save the familiarities until _after_ the wedding?” She calmly states, lifting his arm off of her.

“My manners, yes. Gale has often reminded me that the Weltish culture is not one for expression. I do hope you’ll learn our ways sooner rather than later, as you shall be the next Queen of St. Antilla.” His finger twists a stray curl around her face. She bristles in discomfort. He didn’t have to remind her. “But, may I get one kiss? Something to tide me over until then?”

Cordelia scrunches up her face instinctively.

“Do I disgust you?” He asks with innocence to his tone.  

“No—yes, one kiss. But that’s it.” She mentally prepares herself.

His mouth overtaking hers with swiftness—and to her surprise—he’s good at kissing. But, her gut didn’t swirl in desire, yearning—not like it did with the thief. His hands become rowdy, touching the seams of her bust. His lips travel to her jawline—it’s not the action that makes her uncomfortable so much as the thought of his desire—if he could barely contain himself out here, what did that mean for her wedding night? She squints—she didn’t want to think about it.

“That’s enough, please.” She braces her arms forward, pushing the heavier man away from her.

Stunned, he briefly looks at her. “You didn’t like that?”

She doesn’t speak, discomfort grows from within.  

“Ah, well we’ll have a lifetime to discover what you do.” His fingers travel back to the hem of her bustline. “You’re so young…”  

“Your Highness, _please.”_ A voice interjects, the white-haired man emerges from the doorway.  _< She’s not used to you. Give her time.>_

 _< As my wife, she needs to be affectionate. The Queen promised me a bride who was more than willing to love. I’m worried about this arrangement.>_ Did he forget she can _understand_ Antillan!? “My manners, _again._ My darling, forgive me. I know this arrangement isn’t ideal for you—I promise to make it one you can tolerate.” He smiles a bit sheepishly. “I’m letting my carnalities dictate my reactions when I should be most mindful.”  

<I’m _sure_ you are.> She narrows her eyes, while his widen in surprise.

<I-I apologize for my forgetfulness—I’m sorry, Princess.> He stands up, making himself scare within the minute. Was this man truly twice her age? He certainly didn’t act like it. She expected Gale to follow, but he doesn’t. She tenses, edging close to the armrest of the bench.

 “Princess?” The man’s cool emerald eyes linger on her necklace. “I’d like to apologize.”

“Why? She curiously observes him. “You don’t have anything to say sorry for.”

“His behaviour, you see. He’s not used to being refused and assumes he can take what he wants, due to his position within his Kingdom. For the most part, he can.”

“That doesn’t excuse it.” She grumbles.

“I know. But as he is to be your husband, it is something you should be aware of. If you request it, I can ask him to be gentler with you.”

“It’s okay, I can tell him myself.” Her tone is curt.

He chuckles, it’s a heavenly sound.

“I don’t understand why you’re laughing.” Her arms cross tightly.

“At the prospect of King Ryne being put in his place. He’s a stubborn man, but his weakness is pretty young blondes like yourself. He was quite overjoyed when your mother proposed the union.”

“Without my permission might I add—sorry, that’s not your concern.”

“You’ll be my Queen soon enough.” He smiles. “Everything that concerns you concerns me.” That’s oddly…considerate. “Which, I shall ask since I’ve noticed you staring—what is it about me that troubles you?

Cordelia can’t help but notice how the light glinting off the white strands of his hair. The half-moon makes him look majestic.

“Your hair…it’s so white.” She holds her fingers to her lips. “How on earth did you ever get it that colour?”

“Ah, a fine question.” His grin shows his amusement. “I was created this way.”

“Created?” That’s an odd choice of words.

“You make it sound like you’re a statue carved from marble.”

“No, but…” He lowers his gaze to his feet. “Princess, do you believe in otherworldly creatures?”

“Like spectres? Don’t tell me you’re a ghost now.” Cordelia frowns.

“No, it’s not like that. Rather…” He pauses. “I don’t want to scare you.”

Now she wanted to know more. “Well, you look human to me.”

There’s that heavenly laugh again. “I’m certainly human. But, I should have rephrased my question better. Do you believe in magic?”

“I’ve seen it—erm—”

“No need to censor yourself. Are they abilities you have, by chance?”

“I don’t have magic.” She laughs awkwardly. “But, clearly you believe it to ask me that kind of question. Do you have it?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t possess _some_ otherworldly ability.” His smile darkens. “But it’s so rare to find others who understand.”

“I get it, I’ve seen magic with my own eyes.”

“From where?” he asks gently.

“A friend.” Her words are laced with sorrow.

“Who’s passed on?”

“No. They’re alive, but I’m doubtful I’ll ever see them again.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because…” She can’t tell him about the thief named Radjerd—she can’t expose him. Not after the good he did—dammit. Her chest grows heavy.

“This person isn’t royalty, I assume.”

“They’re not.”

“Can you tell me what kind of ability they had?”

That should be okay. “They could kill a swarm of Giant Spiders within a 20-foot radius.”

Gale’s eyes widen, “Can they?”

“They also knocked out an attacker of mine, saving my life.”

“I’m surprised they aren’t at the palace with you.” Gale stands up. “But that’s none of my business. I shall leave you to your thoughts, Princess.” Cordelia watches as the man takes his leave. Oddly enough, her mind’s not filled with questions of Gale, rather…

Would she ever see the thief named Radjerd again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway through! Can you believe it? Because I sure can't. 
> 
> Things are about to ramp up, so get ready! 
> 
> Rose


	17. Chapter 17

<White hair you say?> Freydis scratches her chin as she speaks between bites. Cordelia snuck into the kitchen to grab Freydis some steak, which apparently, she had no problem ripping apart with her hands. Cordelia would have found the act unseemly, but it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. But, it was necessary—she had to bribe the woman. After all, if it weren’t for the ball preparation tonight, she’s doubtful she would have gotten away with it. Thankfully, Sir Colin was ready for another secret mission. <I’ve heard some legends, but they’re probably just that. He likely dyed it to seem mysterious.>

<My mom’s hair is silver, a light silver at that. It’s not outside the realm of possibility.> Cordelia rests her hands on her hips. <But with the wedding this week, everyone’s been busy with preparation, including me.>

<So that’s why I haven’t seen your pretty face. A shame.> Freydis changes the subject. <Is your mother a magical being, then?> Freydis lifts a playful brow, a smirk quirking her lips.

<You’re the one who’s travelled with—erm—magical beings.> She didn’t want to reference the thief named Radjerd. Freydis may find it appropriate to tease her again.

<So, because I know one, I know them all?> Freydis chuckles. <But no, Radjerd is the only one I got to know. We didn’t advertise his skills, considering that magic is rather a hush-hush activity. By the way, your fake off-putting stare isn’t real—you’re not going to convince me you don’t miss him. Hell, even I miss the dolt.>

<Don’t get the wrong idea, and of course you would—the two of you are close.>

<Yeah, I regret going behind his back—even after what he did. I should have just let him keep you.>

<Keep me?! I am no one’s to keep.> Cordelia raises her voice. It bothers Sir Colin, however, he calms down when Cordelia gives him a reassuring stare.

<Calm down—I don’t mean it possessively. He’s not the type to want to own a person—none of us are.>

<I’m glad to hear it because you’ve been pardoned. My father’s giving you and Branton the go-ahead to leave after the wedding. No charges.>

Freydis drops her steak. <Are you serious?>

<Of course, a deal is a deal.> It’s the only time she’s seen her father since the king had arrived. She’s not sure if it was based on his word alone, or if it would dig at his wife—or rather, her mother. Cordelia’s never seen anything like it. In fact, this may be the first time she’s seen her father so angry. Thankfully, that anger wasn’t directed at her—it was nice to have that freedom for once.  

<Damn, I never expected for you to follow through…now I feel bad for abducting you.>

<And almost killing me.> Cordelia huffs as she narrows her eyes.

<Yes, that too. I’m used to being locked up, but Weltish cells are cold and damp. I’m lucky that I haven’t died yet.> Freydis claps her hands together. <You need to sneak out with us.>

<I can’t.>

<Look, if I had to pick between handsome and powerful King Ryne or Rad I’d pick our _kingywingy_ for sure, but, do you _really_ want to stay?>

<I don’t have a choice. I have to marry the king—my mother ensured me I couldn’t escape again. The guards have increased—tenfold—since King Ryne has arrived, and be sure that by the time we’re wed, you’ll be escorted out secretly. It doesn’t look good for our reputation if the public finds out about your capture.>

<Come on Princess, if you found a way to flee, you could become one of our honorary members. You and Rad can wed because trust me, he’ll want to. You can travel with us—well until you end up with a babe—then we’d have to find lodgings. I guess you could stay with Leanna, she’d be more than happy for the company, and would _die_ when she finds out about her grandchild—>

<—Excuse me!> Cordelia raises her voice. <I never _ever_ said that I was interested in marrying the thief, and children are out of the question.> A growl laces her tone.

<It was a _joke_! >

Cordelia looks to the door. She’s had enough of this. <I came to talk about Gale Glass. Not whatever this conversation’s turning into.>

<Alright, I’ll calm down. Stay, please. I can’t handle being snubbed by the guards here—especially when the tall young one was such a good lay. I underestimated the Weltish breed.>

<What?!> Cordelia reddens. <I don’t want to hear about how good of a _lay_ one of my guards is!>

<You’re not allowed to judge me.> Cordelia glares at her. She wasn’t judging…well, maybe just a little bit. <But fine. We’ll talk about ol’ boring _Glass._ He may be chivalrous, but I wouldn’t trust him, he _is_ the king’s hand. Although I don’t know much about him—shouldn’t be surprised, given my occupation. I don’t know half of those in his court.>

Cordelia’s relieved they’re back on track. <Gale said that your king a stubborn person.>

<I have to say he is if he’s taking a Weltish Princess to be his bride. Someone as pretty as you could do _far_ better. And, if you didn’t already know—the king’s got a _ton_ of bastards. I even had the pleasure of meeting one—I’d have taken her for myself, but it was a fast stop through town. Plus I didn’t want Rad getting his meaty paws on her.>

<Just _how_ many bastards does King Ryne have?> Worry laces her stomach. Let’s hope he didn’t want to match with legitimate heirs.

<We’ll say it’s a thing that’s pretty hush-hush. We might be allowed to spread our fruit as we please, but it’s a big _no-no_ for our leaders. But he became the king at such a young age, so I can understand that he didn’t want to tie himself to just one woman. Although, since he’s climbing up in age now, I imagine his court is pressuring him to settle down. I mean, why not have some sweet little _Princess Deelys_ running around.>

<What’s with you and babies?!> Cordelia huffs.

Freydis lets out a loud chuckle. <It’s not so much the babes, but your face curling in disgust that gets me. I’ve never met a woman so hellbent against children.>

<I take it you like kids?>

<I don’t just like them, I love ‘em. But, they tie you down—I’ll admit, I have a stash of blackworm root in my pouch on the ready, keeps you from that growing worry. It’s everywhere back home, and it’s a blessing for me.>

<What do you mean by _growing worry? > _

<Didn’t think I had to explain, but if you’re new to this…it helps with _preventing_ children. >

<Is such a thing really possible?> That root may have come in handy for her mother. Maybe it could help her too.

<It works, but as the king’s bride, it’s not something you’ll want to mess with. If he found such herbs, or worse, one of the servants did, you’d be in trouble. Preventing the royal line might be punishable if you’re found out. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t want to make your position worse than it might be. Actually…> Freydis trails on that thought. <No, I have a better idea.> Freydis begins, <Here’s what I suggest we do.>

 

Linked in the arms of King Ryne, Cordelia walks beside him, dressed in the midnight skirts she wore the evening she met him. A brilliantly crafted gown, its sequences show the constellations of the different moon phases. Complete with a delicately laced lavender shawl and elbow high gloves, she is a masterpiece to behold. Her hair is framed around her face, small ringlets cover her ears as her blonde locks are weaved in braids around her head. His outfit the same hue as her gown, the two match perfectly.

At least, according to the audience. All eyes are upon them. Including her parents. Her father had graced them with his presence at the ball; she couldn’t believe it at first. But, the folk would talk if he didn’t show up. He couldn’t miss the ball before his daughter’s wedding. His cold blue eyes are locked on the man beside her—she had never seen her father scowl so deeply.

Cordelia reflects upon Freydis’s plan: Invite Freydis, Branton and the thief named Radjerd to the palace once she became situated. He would pay them handsomely for their rescue, and then, the three would break her out of the palace. It was a start—but getting them _into_ the palace was the major step. They were experienced thieves, Cordelia would leave the specifics up to them.

Right now, she needed to keep up performances with her fiancé.  

In the spirit of excitement, the man lifts Cordelia off of the floor, silencing the room completely. Cordelia’s stunned, not expecting to be propelled off her feet as he twirls her around. This is something a lover would do…it hits her. A sudden pang of guilt; she’s leading this innocent, kind-hearted man on. But, she didn’t have a choice. She never wanted this wedding in the first place.

God, was Cordelia thankful for the plan. Or else, the pressure may have gotten to her.

“Please, put me down. It’s not appropriate here.” Cordelia eyes her father, who’s gripping the handle of his seat. Her mother doesn’t seem phased—no, this is what she wants.

“You’re right, I apologize, but I’m so happy to have you as my bride.” He whispers as he eases her on her feet. “Forgive me for being insensitive to your customs.”

“If you promise you won’t step on my toes, we should get to dancing.” Cordelia laughs, keeping her embarrassment in check. “Before my father comes over and socks you.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.” He whispers when he holds himself proper. Cordelia takes his arm and follows his lead on the ballroom floor. A few songs play, both of them silent for the time being. Although she had to admit, his footwork impresses her.

He asks, “Are you happy?”

She’s tempted to cling onto the jewels around her neck. Maybe she could be happy with him if she didn’t taste freedom. “I will be.”

“I’m glad, I can tell you’ve been polite with me. I was worried, as our wedding is in a couple of days. I’ve backed off, attempting to give you space, and I’m glad I did. It’s given you a world of good.” His smile is sincere. “I want to make you a happy woman, Cordelia, if you don’t mind me using your first name.”

“It’s fine. May I call you Ryne, then?”

“Yes, anything for you, _darling._ ” He grins, “There’s an air to you, as if you’re confident, experienced. Don’t think that’s gone unnoticed.” His voice is almost a purr. “If you’d entertain me a little before our vows…”

“Quite an observation for a man who’s thought me a simple woman.” She masks her tenseness, was he inviting her to kiss him, or share his bed. With his tone, she wasn’t sure.

She notices his cheeks flush. “I have to say, your mother gave me a portrayal of a woman who needed protection. Something tells me you’ve grown into your own while you were—well, lack of a better word—taken.”

“I have people from your kingdom to thank, which is where my favour leads. I was hoping that we could reward them for their rescue.”

“This is the first I heard of it.” He asks, shocked. He spins her around, not so subtly rejecting the partner switch. “Why wait so long to tell me?”

“Because they are…not so noble folk. But, I was hoping I could reward them handsomely for their perilous efforts. After our wedding, may we have them come to the palace?”

“After we’ve settled, I’d love to reward those who have helped you.” Cordelia smiles inwardly—she’s relieved he agreed.  

A brief thought comes to her. Gale wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Cordelia asks, “Where is Gale?”

“He’s ensuring that the guards are doing their due diligence. He’s not the dancing type.”

“Does he not trust our security?”

“I’ll admit, he’s a bit of an oddball, but he’s always been there for me. He’s not only a brilliant man, but a good friend.”

Cordelia raises a brow. “He looks young.”

“He takes great care of himself.” He smirks. As the guests switch their dancing partners, the king whisks her out of the room, to a small corridor. He drops his Weltish speech. <I want to kiss you, darling. Please, let me.> Well, wasn’t that a switch in tone.

<If I may, I want to ask you about the night you kissed me the first time.> Cordelia raises a brow. <I haven’t forgotten the things you’ve said to me.>

<I was worried I was promised a wife who wouldn’t love me. I don’t know what I could do if you gave me the could shoulder, but I see that wouldn’t be the case now.> He leans in, but not too far. He is waiting for Cordelia’s permission.

<Your right hand, Gale, said you’re used to getting your own way.>

<Well, aren’t _you? >_ He’s right—mostly. <We’re responsible for the well being and protection of our people. Gale’s right, and I will get my way when the safety of St. Antilla is at risk. And, while we’re honest with each other, I’ll admit that I used to have a wandering eye, but I promise you, _darling,_ I won’t share a bed with another, except with you, my future queen.>

That was oddly…touching. A kind, innocent man who would be played by Cordelia soon. Dammit. The guilt resurfaces—it’s an awful feeling.

The king leans forward, <May I kiss you, _please? > _

Cordelia looks at his dazzling brown eyes. There’s no reason why she can’t comply. She had to keep him in the dark about her true intentions. With a small nod, the king leans her beside the door, the music still plays as he opens her mouth with his tongue, the feeling quite exhilarating. He cupped her hands over her breast, indicating that if she let him for too long, he’d likely scoop her to his chambers tonight.

A booming voice behind them froze both the king, and Cordelia. If she didn’t hear it with her own two ears, she would have called any witnesses liars. She had never heard her father raise his voice. Within seconds, the king is torn off of her, his back pressed against the brick wall.

“You may have fooled my wife, but I see right through you.” Her father’s angry fist grips the king’s collar. “You may forget that you’re in my land, and in _my_ land, you’re not to be around my daughter…until…” Disgust creeps into his voice. “…The vows are spoken.”

“Father, I’m alright!” Cordelia steps in. “I let him kiss me.”

“Because of your mother’s thoughtless actions, you didn’t have a choice in the matter.” His growl is deep.

“I am deeply sorry, I will keep myself at bay from now on. You’re right, I shouldn’t have sneaked off with the princess like that.”

Her father’s eyes narrow as his teeth clench together. “If I had it my way, you wouldn’t be allowed to step foot in Wellspring.”

“Father, _please!”_ Cordelia didn’t want any scuffling between the two, attempting to pull her father’s arms off of the king before anything worse happened. He’s lucky that the king isn’t spiteful—he could have started a war! By an act of the heavens, her father releases the king—his cheeks still red from anger.

 _“—I assure you my king’s actions have been nothing but innocent and pure_.” A chilling voice halts Cordelia; Gale steps from the shadows of the corridor—was he lurking here the whole time? No, King Ryne said he was on duty.  

“Like hell he is.” Her father’s on defence.

“Now, hush.” Gale smiles, Cordelia raises her brows as her father slumps his shoulders. “No need to be so hasty, I’ve assured you months ago that this was the best arrangement for your sweet daughter.”

“…You’re right.” Her father nods, complacently. “I should have never listened to you.”

“Ah, we can’t have a revolt, now can we? Your queen has a lot riding on this marriage, and you know as well as I do what will happen if it doesn’t transpire.”

“I don’t care. None of this seems worth my daughter’s life.”

“She’ll lead a good, healthy one. I assure you.” Gale is brave to approach him, as he gently places his hand on her father’s shoulder. “The wedding is soon, and the two kingdoms will be joined in matrimoiety. You will be happy for your daughter, won’t you?”

Cordelia backs up when her father simply whispers in a helpless state, “I will.”

“Now, all my king is trying to do is better acquaint himself with his future queen in a personable way. Will you please leave them for now? I assure you, nothing inappropriate will go on from here on out.” He guides her father from the room—It’s like he was manipulating her father’s mind, but _how?_  

Cordelia raises a brow as King Ryne stutters out, <He’s done this before—if it weren’t for Gale’s involvement—he would have had my head.>

This is news to Cordelia. <He attacked you before?>

<Not like this, but he wanted to when I first met him and the current queen, your mother.> He pauses briefly. <Gale’s quite persuasive—he insisted I should take your hand. To be frank, I was worried you were too young, but he assured me you’d be interested. And, I’m relieved he’s right. I’m not a monster—I wouldn’t force you into my bed, I’m a man of honour. Even if I’m not always best-behaved.>

But why was Gale so eager to have Cordelia marry King Ryne?

Something isn’t right.


	18. Chapter 18

Echoes of preparation fill the halls of the palace—tomorrow’s the big day. Cordelia’s nerves were at an all-time high—she could barely keep her food down. Reality set in when her mother discussed her travel plans—they were to leave within the morning after the wedding. Another wedding would be held in St. Antilla, but their customs slightly differed—their unions are more of an intimate affair. A private gathering would be in the palace of St. Antilla, where they would bow before a statue of Galatea—the bringer of spirits. Wellspring had a statue of Galatea in the courtyard before, but it been long since disposed of, due to different roles of leadership. Who tore it down was never made clear, other than they believed it was a bad omen.

Cordelia makes it into one last dress fitting, her ambient gown trails a quarter of a mile long. Her dress mixed with the lace of her mother’s generation, while infusing St. Antillan beadwork through the skirts. Shimmering when the light hit it, Cordelia gasps in marvellous surprise. To see the dress upon her frame, it’s a marvellous blend of the two cultures. A small smile graces her face. She reminds herself that the union between the St. Antillan King and herself will be short. As she’s undressed and redressed by the chambermaids, Cordelia has one final trip.

To confirm the final plan with Freydis.

It’s late enough that her mother’s retired to reading, and since the servants were busy, it would give her a solid in. Would she even need Sir Colin? She didn’t want to maneuver to the barracks this late. She will test her luck.  

As Cordelia approaches the dungeon hall, she sees two guards—standing tall and firm. They’re exactly where they need to be.

“I wish to speak with the prisoner, Freydis.”

“But Princess, you’re unattended.”

“I don’t see how that’s a problem.” She lifts a brow. “If you’re worried for me, then one of you accompany my visit.”

“Well…” One of the guards flushes, sheepishly exchanging glances with the other guard on duty. “I think she’s busy.”

“And what would she be busy with?” Cordelia crosses her arms.

“Matters that you shouldn’t lay eyes upon, Princess.”

Cordelia rolls her eyes. “I don’t care. Just get me down to speak with her—and why do you two allow such conduct in the first place?!”

Both guards stutter.

“Now, as it is my final night here, you two shall grant me this wish.”

“If that’s your wish.” The guard resigns as she opens the door to the dungeons. “I’ll accompany you, but please, avert your gaze.”

Cordelia walks down the stairwell, but no sounds are heard from the hall—had the guards been playing a nasty trick on her?! Nope! Cordelia’s face reddens when she sees a giggling Freydis, her toned, curvy back is bare for all to see. Underneath her is a pair of legs, well covered by armour. Was that one of her knights?!

Freydis turns her head and grins, her sea blue eyes radiating with approval. She doesn’t even try to conceal her breasts.

<Hello again, Princess Cordelia. Like what you see?>

She says nothing, her crimson stained cheeks speak for her. <Please, cover yourself.>

<Why? I’m starting to get comfortable here with my new friend—I’d like to thank you for introducing him to me.> Cordelia looks down—a mop of blonde hair covers the horrified gaze of…Sir Colin?!

Quickly, the knight scampers away from Freydis, redressing himself as he exits the cell.

“Princess, I apologize deeply for my discretion!" He belts out as he reassembles himself—god! Cordelia did  _not_ want to see him in this light. 

“It’s no business of mine. Now please, leave us.” Cordelia keeps herself composed despite her discomfort. The hurried sounds of clinking armour can be heard behind her as Sir Colin scampers away.

<Well, what did _kingywingy_ say? > Freydis leans in, her annoyance present. <It better be good news, or I'll kill you for interrupting my fun.> 

<He’s going to reward my rescuers, rest assured.> 

A sigh of relief, then, <Yes! We can finally live in peace!>

<And help me escape, of course.> Cordelia reminds her.

<Yes, a deal’s a deal.> Her voice grows annoyed. <But did you have to interrupt my fun?>

<I don’t have much time before I have to leave.> Cordelia warns. <I wanted you to know that I kept my word.>

<You're kidding me! Well, if you're going to be like that, ask that guard by the stairs if she doesn't mind curing my urges.> 

The woman by the gate? <I won’t. That’s not polite.>

<Do it, or I may let it slip that I found you in the Locke Manor with Raddyboy in the most _delicious_ of positions.>

She was being blackmailed by Freydis. Wonderful.

<Fine. I’ll be seeing you in St. Antilla then.>

<Remember, if you ignore my request…> Freydis warns.

What the hell was wrong with this woman?

Cordelia looks at the guard standing next to her. “Alright, will you entertain our prisoner for the night? I know it’s an odd request.”

“Indeed it is…” The woman stares wide-eyed at Freydis. “But if you need a sacrifice, I certainly don’t mind stepping in.”

Unbelievable… Were all the Weltish defence so critically horny?

“Yes, it’d be much appreciated.” Cordelia rolls her eyes as she walks back up the stairwell, leaving her guard to trifle with Freydis. Soon, that woman would have everyone in this palace bewitched.

 

Cordelia passes the grand sitting room—however, takes two steps back. She gasps when she sees Gale, his hair lit from the gleam of the moonlight. Should she turn back? No, Cordelia has questions that only he can answer, and now is the only time to ask them. Cordelia steps inside the sitting room, and onto the balcony.

“My Princess, or should I say— _my Queen.”_ Gale bows, his eyes coolly upon hers. “What can I do for you on this fine night?”

“Oh, well—” She stops herself. Cordelia has to be direct with the man—she needed to be certain that this man had good intentions. Even though she planned to escape, the king’s laws would affect her, if she did choose to reside in St. Antilla. Although she sensed Freydis knew how to bend the rules—she already did in her cell.

_Cordelia. Focus!_

“There’s no need to be shy, my dear. I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing me. You have questions.”

“Just one.”

“ _Just_ one?” His interest piques. “Before long, I’ll be serving you too, my Queen. I need to be able to better assist your needs.”

There’s something hollow about the way he’s saying it.

“I would like to discuss some things with you if you’re open.” She brushes off her skirts as she sits down. “You…” She stops, his hair responding well to the moonlight. “Your hair…”

“My hair—yes, it reacts rather interestingly to the light of the full moon.” He laughs like it’s a joke shared between comrades. “It’s because I’m a Galatean.”

Cordelia stares at him, bewildered. A Galatean? She’s never heard of that nation before. “Is that from across the sea?”

“No, it’s not.” He clasps his hands together. “It comes from the ancient tale of the statue of Galatea, a man who carved the perfect woman from stone. What he hasn’t realized, in fact, is that our Guardian made his wish become a reality—and turned that statue into a woman. The woman they bestowed onto him was the first Galatean on this earth.”

That was a _lot_ of new information thrown her way.

“Wait— _the_ Galatea statue? We used to have it here, but I learned that around three centuries ago, it was disposed of due to a bad omen.”

“It wouldn’t have been the same one. Have you ever wondered why this place was called Wellspring?” He asks, a quirk seen to his smile. “Legend has it that spring is located within the bedrock of this palace, one that can emulate our powers, even create the same effects. A spring that grants wellness and virility.” Gale curls his lip but changes his tone when he speaks. “That statue of which you speak was the last good thing about this kingdom—forgive me for my boldness.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m not surprised that you don’t. It’s quite a claim to behold—I’ve never found the spring myself.”

“You tried?”

“I did. That spring in the wrong hands can be disastrous—when Wellspring was taken over by your family, all references to the spring faded, yet the name of the kingdom remained. It’s sadly ironic.” No one but her family was supposed to know the true history of Wellspring. “I was there when it happened.”

“But that’s impossible. There’s no way that you were there—”

“Around the time the statue was ripped away from the square.” He says calmly. “Now, you told me yourself, Princess. You have a friend who has The Devil’s Curse. How can you discredit my tale?”

“I never called it that.” Cordelia raises a suspicious brow. The Devil’s Curse sounds ominous—like that alone belonged to a villain himself. But that could be farther from the truth—at least in the thief named Radjerd’s case. “What is your proof?”

He presses his fingers to his lips, smiling as his eyes glow. She jumps back—god—it’s just like the thief’s!

“My power isn’t really a power, as such. I’m not human.”

“Not human?” Impossible!

“I’m a spirit, residing in a human body. I was not born, nor will I die. That is what we Galateans are.”

Goosebumps overtake her. “Immortal?”

“Yes, nothing can kill me, Princess. Except, well, another Galatean—or someone of their lineage.”

“That is—I don’t—what are you talking about?”

“I suppose I should elaborate. All magic users are derived from us, our lineage. My children and children’s children will inherit my power—but as long as I’m still on this earth, I shall bear the brunt of it.” His inquisitive stare sees that she doesn’t understand. “We were sent from the outer plane, to help humanity in their darkest times. To show them and help guide them towards peace, love, light.” If that’s the case, then why is she sensing otherwise?  

“So are you saying that _everyone_ with the ability to use magic is borne of a Galatean?”

“Yes,” He closes his eyes, as his eyes squint in pain. “My own daughter was ruthlessly murdered because her powers were feared.”

“That’s terrible…I don’t mean to pry, but who murdered her?”

“As far as I’m concerned, justice will be served to them.” He says with bitterness. “It matters not who did it.” He closes his eyes as he takes a long, deep breath. “It happened so long ago, it may as well be a lifetime.”

 “I just don’t believe this whole immortal thing.” Cordelia shakes her head.  

“There is one way to show you.” Cordelia stiffens when Gale rummages through his bag. He pulls out a gold-encrusted dagger, placing it on the palm of his hand. “Now, should I do the honours, or shall you?” His grin is forthcoming. He takes pleasure in her discomfort.

“I’m _not_ stabbing you.” Cordelia stays with certainty. “Do you know how bad that would look? I will not be accused of taking the king’s hand’s…well, hand!” It wasn’t meant to be a joke.

“Suit yourself.” He stretches out his palm, Cordelia squeaks as it goes through, the man doesn’t flinch a bit. 

“Oh my god!” She closes her eyes, her arms blocking her face. “I can’t believe you’d do that to your own hand!” She takes her time to open them; his hand remains unbloodied—despite the dagger being lodged right through. She can’t believe her eyes. It goes against all she knows.

“You should be bleeding!”

He chuckles. “I can strike it through my heart if you wish.”

“God, no, please don’t!” She winces when she hears the sound of the dagger sliding from his flesh. A gash remained, but to her disbelief, the gouge vanished.

“Is this proof enough? Gale asks.

“I’d say so.” She nods slowly. Even if her mind can barely comprehend it. “Does King Ryne know?”

“He does, but it’s our little secret. I’ve watched the man grow from infancy, but I only came into my position recently. I had to assume many identities to avoid suspicion throughout the years, but Ryne knew it was me. He’s a good man. If anything became of him, I think I’d lose my mind.”

If one were immortal…that would make the concept of death even harder—to know you could never join your loved ones again. How he was able to stay in good spirits was miraculous.

“Are there more Galateans out there?”

Gale remains tight-lipped. “It’s unlikely, but if there is—that means my time on this earth is running out. The only way two Galateans can exist on this earth is when the first one becomes corrupt with power—the other is then sent to extract them, or in this case, me, back to the spirit realm.”

Spirit realm? Did the thief know any of this? Does he even know he’s a descendant of these so-called Galateans?

Gale senses her discomfort. “I know this is a lot to take in, but please believe what I say is true. I wish to be truthful to you, because of who you’ll become. I treasure King Ryne’s friendship, and I will do the same for you, and your heirs.”

“If you speak the truth, then answer me this—how did you convince my father to let the king have my hand? I saw how you calmed him down last night.”

“Ah, yes. Your father doesn’t see what the benefit of your allegiance to my liege can do for both St. Antilla and Wellspring. It’ll create a foundation strong enough should any kingdoms decide to overtake yours one day.”

“You say that as if it’s certain.” Cordelia narrows her eyes.

“I’ve seen kingdoms rise and fall before, Princess.”

Right, because of his immortality… She still can’t comprehend it.

“Did you use powers on him?”

“Powers? I have none that can influence the human mind. His decisions were made entirely on his own.”

She doubts that heavily. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but I saw you. I’ve never seen my father act so rash before. Yet with a simple stare, you calmed him so easily.”

“I didn’t manipulate him if that’s what you’re concerned about. The only thing I had done was simply encouraged him to see the light.”

“And how did you do that?”

Gale leans closer. “Well, I can show you, if you allow me to.”

“So you can warp my mind? No thank you.”

He laughs softly as he lightly brushes his fingers with her chin. “Now, just relax. I promise you, it’ll feel good.”

Cordelia’s eye-locked with him, as his stare intensifies. It’s like his irises were swirling pools of green. She flinches when she feels a tingle throughout her body, but she can’t deny how her head feels lighter—as the stresses of this earth lifted her from her sorrows. It’s incredible! If this is what he did with her father, she can understand the tonal shift. This was quite a miraculous feeling.

“You look a lot like my late wife, actually.” He smiles wide, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I miss her more than you can ever know. We might be spirits, but we too mourn our lost ones. I’d do anything to see her again, but that’s no longer a reality I can face. But you, Cordelia. I know you will bring the one with The Devil’s Curse here to the palace. And when you do…” He stalls, his lips inches from hers, he presses them gently on hers. She freezes, unable to fend off his advance. “I’ll...” She can’t hear what he’s saying, her head too foggy to comprehend his words. No… _no…_ she fights to regain consciousness. But she loses, black surrounds her vision.

The thief named Radjerd's in trouble. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seems oddly written. I'm on pretty heavy painkillers. I did the best I could with what little brain cells I have at the moment lol. 
> 
> Rose <3


	19. Chapter 19

Traces of dust fall from the ceiling of the abandoned cathedral study as Radjerd walks in, his eyes on the man who invited him here. His sleek blonde hair is neatly styled, his jacket is clean and dust-free. Radjerd, on the other hand, has to duck to avoid more shards of dust that might fall. This place was in horrible condition, but as Edward stated, they wouldn’t be here for long. He had his eyes set on the palace, and in the man’s eyes, he was going to get what he desired.

<I noticed something at dinnertime today. You seem…troubled. Maybe it’s because I can now see your chin.>

<I didn’t have the essentials until today.> Radjerd stiffly crosses his arms.

<My apologies, but you certainly look more commanding clean-shaven.> Edward’s cool expression daunts Radjerd. <Now, what is it that ails you?>

<Nothing.> Radjerd fakes a smile; he agreed to work alongside Edward to get to the palace. As the weeks went by, his familiarity with Fenli and Leander did too. Fenli encouraged Radjerd to get close with Edward, as it was all a part of Queen Merise’s plan. She sent Fenli undercover to lure the Delteans into the palace, where her people would finish them. Radjerd found it hard to believe that the Queen of Wellspring had the proper defence. He thought Wellspring was strictly against magic.

<The princess lingers in your mind still. As I’ve promised, she’s yours to take and do with, as long as you keep up with your side of the bargain.> He pours a glass of ale, swishing it delicately as he offers a glass to Radjerd, who quickly declines. He can’t afford to have any missteps. <Now I may have gotten the wrong impression of you, but what I’ll be giving you in funds will have the both of you living comfortably—of course—if you agree to follow through with your promise.>

<I’ve given my word that I will.> Radjerd agreed that he’ll take the lives of the king and queen himself, but he plans on turning his hand to Edward instead. He knows he won’t be able to kill the man, but keeping him and his followers down would give the queen enough time to execute her plan—whatever it was. Fenli wasn’t given specific evidence. Just one order—lead them back to the palace using her cloaking magic.

Radjerd waves a strand of hair away from his face. <I’ll take her far away from Wellspring—as long as you give the promise that you won’t hunt us down. I assure you, once we leave Wellspring, we won’t be coming back. As you know, the princess isn’t interested in ruling.?

<I’m curious—what are your plans? I didn’t get the impression that the princess was particularly fond of you.>

<I don’t think that’s your business.> Radjerd replies gruffly. <And what give you that impression?>

<Well, she might have been performing only to keep herself alive, since you were ordered to kill her.> His grin grows wider as he nurses his drink. <Ah, a thought I didn’t consider. But as you said, it’s none of my business—although I’m more than in the mood to be entertained. I’m viciously curious.>

Even if Radjerd wanted to share his ambitions, he had not a clue what he wanted to do with Deely, or where they should go. He wanted to go back to Shastican’s Delight, but Alteus wouldn’t have him back—he may have blown his companionship with his lie. Keeping the princess hidden in his establishment wouldn’t go unpunished. And, it’s understandable. If Radjerd were to reenact that moment, he’d have been honest with Alteus, even if it meant that the man may have betrayed him. He had lost Freydis, and Alteus too. If he doesn’t get Deely back, then what was any of this worth?

Which leads Radjerd to ask, <Why are you so set on letting the princess live?>

<Because I know she’s the only chip we have in your cooperation. If I sense you’re going to betray me, I’ll have no problem keeping her for myself. In fact, I don’t see why I shouldn’t…> He raises a brow on purpose—bastard’s trying to rile him up.

He refuses to bite.

<My cooperation isn’t to be trifled with.> Radjerd growls.

<As long as you play your part, then all will go as initially planned.> He grins, his smile growing larger by the minute.

The bastard is trying to goad him.

<If you’re going to joke, I’ll walk out that door and abandon this mission. I’m not in the mood to joke when Deely’s concerned.>

His remark only makes the man smile wider. <I’m glad to hear you say that. There’s nothing more than I like to hear than a man who sticks to his word. I abhor traitors.>

That made the two of them.

<Now, I’m glad we had this little chat. I’ve been worried that you were plotting against me. But, your head seems to be in the clouds for the princess you claimed—then again—many men would.> He muses. <I’m glad that my suspicions were just bouts of last-minute paranoia.>

<What gave you that inclination?> He slips his hands in his pockets, attempting to hold a casual pose.

<You seemed a little too interested in claiming revenge—especially when you heard that we’re to strike on the night of the wedding. I understand there are bitter feelings there, but it just seemed rather odd, if you ask me. I thought it was you laying it on thick, but it seems you genuinely want to claim the princess as yours.>

<We’re not a culture that takes pleasure in owning peoples’ lives.> Radjerd reminds him. <I want you to remember that. I owe nothing to you, or the Delteans. We are temporarily working together to accomplish the same thing.>

Edward’s grin is wicked. <As long as we are, Radjerd Laurius.> Radjerd stiffens, a cool jitter falls down his back. <We’re finished here. Wait for me in the nave—you’ll be crucial for tonight’s speech.>

Radjerd grips his pockets. He doesn’t know why, but for a moment—fear grips him.

What if everything falls apart?

The ceiling crack allows the moonlight to spill above the pew, lighting what their candles could not. White and red hues fill their space—revealing the faces of tired residents. All were familiar faces he’s seen in passing—Leander and Fenli are the ones that his eyes focus on. Fenli rubs the top of her brother’s hand. It was tough at first, but Radjerd’s relieved he convinced Edward to let the siblings be imprisoned together. Leander didn’t need convincing, he’d have sold his soul to the Delteans if it meant he could see her again—luckily, that wasn’t a part of the deal. He had to translate some ancient texts, and thankfully, that was all they needed of him.

Edward clears his throat.

<Welcome.> The deep, charismatic tone of the blond man’s voice fills the now silent cathedral hall. Radjerd stands by the man’s side.

<I’ve gathered you all here today to remind you of our noble cause. For us, and our generations to come, we’re about to embark on a mission we may never come out from. But, we do this for something much greater. For centuries, we were cursed by the hands of the Royal Family; because we feared them! In one sense, they were right to fear us—we have powers they couldn’t comprehend, our ancestry blessed us with abilities that we cannot comprehend ourselves. The way we all had to weave through this world, just to keep a part of us hidden is a travesty. How long would we wait before those who would wish to dispose of us would snuff out our abilities, the days our mothers and fathers fear most? The fate we now live, is thanks to the royal family that sit on that throne today.

Why do we sacrifice ourselves? Because our purpose, to be who we are without the fear of prosecution, without the worry of our safety. We can reclaim the spring, reclaim our most fertile of lands, cultivate new magic and allow our generations to flourish once again without fear of being struck down.

Tomorrow, we shall strike. We will take over the palace, and reclaim our most promised lands. Fenli will lead our army undercover, using her cloak of deception. From there, Arian will stun the guards once we unveil ourselves, and Tifli will surround the palace in flames—to keep the innocent out. We don’t wish to harm the citizens, only the ones who wish to defend the king and queen by choice. As for Radjerd, he will be accompanying me in the most promised way, he will take the royal family down with his curse—and I shall rip the souls from their bodies—bringing them back to the underworld where they belong. Together, we can liberate our old kingdom, and embrace the abilities we have once again. No more will we be seen as a stain on history, but we shall rewrite it.>

A roar erupts through the crowd of people. Radjerd says nothing—he didn’t want to admit it, but Edward’s words rang true. His mother had him in isolation due to the fact he was different. But, does he blame Deely and her family? No, but would he blame them if he hadn’t met her? He feels Fenli’s cool stare as he turns his head to face her.

<Radjerd, do you have any encouraging words for our crowd tonight?>

Radjerd's nervous. He can't screw this up. 

<I do.> He straightens his shoulders before speaking. Light murmurs are heard before the hall falls silent. <Stay vigilant, and you will prevail.> That's all he can say. His throat almost botches his line. Edward would see right through his nerves. But maybe the man would see it as just that—nerves.

God, he hopes he’s not leading these people into death. 


	20. Chapter 20

Cordelia’s regal reflection stares back at her, the woman in the mirror unfamiliar. Her dress is beautifully draped around her body, the skirt opens around her waist like an elegant fan. Her makeup embellishes the pristine, virtuous princess everyone thought her to be. She knew better. She knew she would betray King Ryne. Guilt builds within her stomach, but she can’t deny herself what she really wants. She can’t live in the shadow of her former self, the thief taught her that. He taught her many things…damn it all. Was it appropriate to harbour the feelings she had for him?

A soft knock echoes throughout the room. Cordelia gently turns her head to see who’s there. Her mother greets her, her expression is sorrowful. Their heated exchanges over the time she's been back at the palace had damaged their relationship further.  She’s tempted to tell the woman to leave her room. Is that why her mother looks so low? Cordelia sticks her nose up in the air as she dabs powder onto her face.

“What do you want?”

“I didn’t come here to fight.” Her plea is distinctive—distracting, even. “King Ryne adores you. He's been nothing but gratuitous ever since he arrived. I would be foolish to believe that you have fallen for him as he claims, and that’s why I'm here. To thank you for understanding how important this marriage is—for our kingdom, and your safety.”

Her _safety?_ Cordelia's temper boils.

“Don’t act like I’m acting on my own accord, _mother._ I was following your orders.”

Her mother's lips purse. “It’s for your greatest good. I’d never ask anything of you that wasn’t.”

“For duty; that’s what you said a few dinners ago.” Tears form as she grits her teeth. Cordelia turns around to save face. “My happiness was never important to you.”

“Cordelia!”

“Don’t act like it’s not true. You'll insult us both.”

“I know…” The break in her mother’s voice shocks her. “I wasn’t a good mother to you. As Queen, I had to put my duties above my own daughter. My job is to put the safety and welfare above my own needs, as it is for any monarchs. As a St. Antillan queen, you can have a free life. I know you’ll give your future children a better life than I could give you.”

“You said the Delteans were to blame for the marriage.”

“Yes…I did say that, didn’t I?” Her mother’s composure wavers. “King Ryne promises me that he’ll keep you safe, that the two of you will have a happy life together. As your mother, that notion brings me peace.”

Her mother's words should have brought Cordelia comfort. But instead, hurt fills her chest. “How dare you burst in here saying these things, only because of some old guilty conscience. You know how I feel about all of this—I even ran away! But, you were persistent with keeping my disappearance a secret—deciding to continue on with the wedding, knowing very well how I felt about it. You didn’t even give me time to breathe!”

“That’s not true. I brought King Ryne here so you could be acquainted with him before the wedding.”

“Is that what your mother did when you married Captain of the Guard?”

“That was different!”

“How exactly? Did she catch you in bed with him?” She anticipates her mother’s reaction. Both shock and anger flash across her face. The room is silent, enough so that the satisfaction of her insult dissipates, hollowed guilt grows within her stomach.

“I don’t want our last moments to be like this…even if it’s what I deserve.” Her mother sighs in defeat, her gloved hands fall to her side.

Cordelia frowns, staring at the back of her mother’s silver up-do. With a whisper, she responds, “It’s too late for grievances. I have a wedding to prepare for.”

Cordelia steps out of her room, not realizing that her mother sits on the bed, covering her face with her hands in anguish. Cordelia feels little pity—their relationship is tarnished.

 

Cordelia passes the grand family room. The crackle of the fireplace grabs her attention, causing her to peek inside. She can only see the back of her father’s greying hair as she enters the room. Shouldn’t he be down in the grand hall for the wedding?

“Father?”  He stares at the fireplace, his hands folded together. He doesn’t look at her.

“Father,” Cordelia repeats herself. “Why aren’t you ready?”

“I don’t want you marrying him.”

“I know, but I have to.” Cordelia sharply breathes in. “I don’t want to either, but now…”

“My hands are tied—they’ve been tied since my coronation. My power of King is only an illusion. I can’t even free my own daughter…”

She sits by her father, he turns around slowly. His expression is in slow motion as he takes in the beauty of his daughter.

“You’re absolutely stunning, Delia.” His blue eyes begin to moisten. “I’ve never seen a prettier picture.”  

Cordelia looks at her lap, blinking away her tears. His love for her radiates through his words. To think she’d never see her father again once she left the palace of Wellspring…

Her throat swells with emotion, “I’m sorry I don’t have more time with you.”

“What on earth are you talking about? Just because you’re living in St. Antilla doesn’t mean that you and I won’t see each other. DO you believe that I’ll leave you in the hands of that man all alone?” He recomposes himself. “Once the coast is clear, I’ll be making a personal trip to your residence. If he mistreats you, I’ll have a team of assassins on his ass—”

“You didn’t seriously just admit to me that you have a team of killers under your belt…?”

“And they will be deployed if he ever lays a hand on you. I’ve made sure to remind Gale in case King Ryne has too much to drink.”

“Gale?” Cordelia’s head fogs at the mention of the king’s right hand.

“Forgive me, my mind is hazy since last night, but he’s the one who found you collapsed on the balcony. I owe him many thanks.”

“I collapsed?”

“Of course you don’t, my Delia. All the stress you’re carrying on your shoulders it’s inevitable this would all overwhelm you. I didn’t want to bring it up just in case—” He slaps his hand on his forehead “—as I did just now. I’m sorry.”

“No need.” Had she really passed out? Cordelia shakes her head, her eyes alert. Funny, she didn’t remember being on the balcony.

Her father stands up, the disgust on his face is evident. He switches the subject abruptly, “Just don’t let him take over your independence. He’s not your Lord, he’s your equal. Your mother’s always said I spoiled you, but I wanted you to have the rights that you deserved. I’m sorry I failed you.”  

“No…you didn’t. It’s mother who did.”

“It’s because of her duties. I’ve been livid at her for her choices, but I knew that when I decided to marry her.”

“And why did you?”

“It’s because she always knew what to do. In the face of adversity, she stood tall and faced her foes head-on. As Captain of the Guard, it should have been my duty to keep her safe, but it was the other way around. When her mother passed away, and she became queen, she came to me for support. Me, a knight in her employ. Imagine that, I thought. In the end, she took me as her husband as the _responsible_ thing to do. We…well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you why that is but know this, I don’t regret my decision. Even still, your mother always had a hard time showing her true emotions, even to me at times.”

“Don’t…” Cordelia raises her hand. “Don’t try to paint her in a good light now. It’s too late.”

Cordelia watches as the man’s composure crumbles, he grips the chair while leaning his forehead against his hand. “The—the minute those horrid Delteans are out of the picture, I promise, I’ll talk to your mother. We can be a family again.”

“It’s okay. I’ll find a way to save myself.” Cordelia rests her hand on her father’s back. He turns, scooping her into a strong hug.

It’s exactly what she needs right now.

***

Radjerd stiffens; The Palace of Wellspring. To be this close to it—it’s overwhelmingly daunting. Thanks to the help of Fenli’s cloaking spell, they’ve made it here unnoticed. Within these walls were the lives he was supposed to take, in exchange for the one he wants to save. He needs to remain focused on his mission—to safely take Cordelia from the palace. It was by Queen Merise’s wish, as Fenli reminded him. He couldn’t afford to mess it all up now, especially with a silly mistake.

<Bring us to the hidden passageway. As for the offensive, all of you will take the entrance. Distract the guards, and don't get touched. If you do, Fenli's cloak won’t work. It's just how we discussed before we arrived.> Edward instructs. The group branches off, leaving only Leander, Edward, Fenli, and himself—a rather vulnerable number considering the fifteen they've shown up with.  Fenli leads them to a stone wall tucked at the bottom of the pillar.

<Keep in mind we have to be careful. We’ll be entering the dungeons through here, and this place can be heavily guarded. My guess is since the wedding is taking place, most of them will be around the grand hall.> There is a reluctance to Fenli's voice. She doesn't want to do this. Not that Radjerd could blame her...

<I don’t need any reminders of our plan, just get me inside undetected. We’ve waited too long for this moment to waste any more time!> Edward’s patience is running thin. He had been bevel headed until now, even Radjerd understands why.

The bricks make way for a door with a rusty latch; Fenli opens it with ease. Was this the door Deely used to escape? No, it couldn’t be. The area around here was much too exposed.

<Up these stairs is a dungeon. Chances are, if we release the prisoners, we can get them to work with us.> Fenli suggests to Edward, who nods in agreement.

<Fine, if it helps with our cause then do it.> He turns to Radjerd. <You know how to lockpick, don’t you?>

<Yes?> If he hasn't bound himself—he didn’t need any more reminders of his occurrence with Alteus and Melandra. They proceed up the stairs, the musky smell of the dungeons abhorrent to him. Radjerd didn’t need to keep up his guard. As long as Fenli was unharmed and they weren't touched by anyone who wasn’t under the cloaking spell, they were as visible as ghosts. Radjerd withholds a gasp; There’s no mistaking that dark brute anywhere—it’s a shame the bruise on his face vanished. Wait…if Branton’s here, that means…!

_Freydis can’t be far ahead._

<Do I have to rescue him?>

< _Yes._ But before you do, someone will need to distract the guards. Leander will do it. I promise he’s quite nimble. Right?> she gives a warning stare to her brother, who silently nods. Fenli winks, the first time Radjerd has seen the girl smile since they met. He had no choice but to trust her.

<I won’t fail you, Oland.> He whispers. It's the name Leander preferred using when addressing Radjerd. He didn’t mind.

<I expect that you won’t.> Radjerd says calmly, waiting until Leander creates the ruckus that he needs to. Once he gets the confirmation, Radjerd unsheathes his dagger and wiggles it in the brass lock carefully. Without much effort, the lock falls open, Radjerd immediately opens the door. He waits until Fenli casts the spell before he decides to act. Once he sees the green barrier around the man, he knocks him awake.

<Get up you bastard!> Radjerd mutters harshly. Branton mutters in his sleep before he jolts awake, alarmed by the people staring at him.

<What—what’s this?> Alarm laces his tone.

<We’re breaking you out. You should count your bloody stars that I’d bother.> Radjerd grumbles.

<Radjerd…you’re a face I thought I’d never see again. Freydis will be mighty pleased.>

His suspicions are confirmed. <She’s here then?>

<Down the hall.> Branton leaps out of bed, but not before thanking Fenli and Edward for his rescue. _Dipshit._ They follow Branton to Freydis’s cell as he quickly fiddles with her lock. Relief washes over him as he gently shakes her awake.

<Frey, it’s me. We’re getting you out of here.>

Freydis opens her eyes, shocked to meet a man she clearly thought dead. <I can’t believe it. You actually did come to rescue her—and the handsome blonde man too.> She purrs, <It’s been a while, Eddy.> Freydis doesn’t even question why they're here… no matter, he'll make sure Freydis gets out safe before the inevitable extraction. He can’t say he holds the same reservations for Branton.

<Well, let’s keep focused now. No time for dalliances.> He waves her compliment away with one hand as Radjerd rolls his eyes momentarily before scooping her in a hug.

<Our objective is to save Deely, but we’ll brief you on the plan.> Radjerd whispers. He doesn’t want Edward revealing who they really were.

<Sounds fine by me. They’d let me out tomorrow but I gotta say, this will be much more fun.> Freydis stands up, wiping her eyes before being greeted by Fenli. Her impressed smile is all Radjerd needs to see.

Fenli is definitely her type.

<We don’t have much time before the other team meets us at the Grand Hall. We need to move.> Edward instructs. Radjerd knows the grand plan. It’s up to him to keep up appearances—which meant that people may very well die tonight.

<Fenli, take the prisoners with you, I need to have a word with Mr. Laurius for a quick second.>

Fenli leers back, unsure if she could trust Edward. Radjerd nods, which eases the woman to leave them be. They both knew Edward could betray his word. They had a backup plan just in case.

<Do you promise me to go through with the plan, no matter the cost?> He says with an air of suspicion to his voice.

Radjerd nods, feeling his shoulders droop unsuspectingly as the sapphire bracelet begins to glow.

_Fuck._

***

With her father’s hand in hers, Cordelia enters the Grand Hall of the Palace; white lilies drape along the walls in batches. The hall is well lit, the full moon’s light emphasizing the bodies of people staring at her as they rise from their seats. Nobles from both kingdoms stand on opposite sides of the walkway. The turnout was less than what would be expected from a traditional wedding. With the Delteans threat lingering over their heads, it was easy to see why. Cordelia grips her father’s arm, her stomach tying in knots. Her legs wobble as she walks on the plush red carpet, the noble folk bowing slowly as she walks past them. This should have been a joyous occasion, yet her mother robbed her of that simple pleasure. She can’t even bear to look at King Ryne for fear she may bring up her dinner—if her father didn’t grip onto her as tightly as he did, she may have fainted. When Cordelia reaches the steps to the altar, her father lets go, worry lacing his expression. He looks as pale as she feels. But, this wouldn’t be forever, Cordelia reminds herself. But maybe, she was placing too much trust in Freydis’s words. But how much did she trust in a criminal? No, it was too late for these doubts. Her mother’s stare lingers from the balcony up top, where her throne sits. Cordelia’s expression hardens as she turns away from her mother.

At the altar, she sees the brazen anointer, the one handpicked by her mother to marry the couple—the same anointer who married her parents. Cordelia focuses on King Ryne, dressed in red and gold robes, and his right-hand Gale, standing beside the king in an emerald gold robe. It made Cordelia feel she wasn’t fancy enough. King Ryne takes her gloved hands in his. His smile is warm and reassuring as he grazes her hands with his thumbs. Cordelia fakes a smile. This man was doing the best that he could to reassure her, but…no she doesn’t want to do this.

It’s not too late to run.

Her chest erupts with panicked adrenaline, her eyes darting around to find the closest escape.

<It’s okay, it’s alright.> She hears the king whisper when the anointer repeats their vows.

No, it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t alright. Cordelia’s hand shakes when he gently pulls the glove from her finger. God, she didn’t even want him touching her? How was she going to deal with their wedding night?

She’s going to be sick…

_Pull it together, Cordelia!_

She could have ended up with a hell of a lot worse.

The anointer stares at Cordelia; her throat drying at the mention of her name. The old woman jumps as the doors are abruptly opened. A tall, blonde man strides through; why didn’t the guards stop him? Cordelia clutches her hands against her breast. A glow of light lingers around the door—no that's not an ordinary light. It's fire! The hall is filled with frightened gasps as the flames blocking the doorway grow higher.

“I love weddings, The man muses as he approaches the couple. “It’s a shame that I wasn’t invited.”

 _Edward!_ The man she met at The Locke Manor, the only one who knew her identity. God…no, he couldn’t be a Deltean. Yet the flames behind him prove that this was a Deltean Attack.

“Leave this place!” Her mother growl echoes through the hall. “Immediately!”

“Now, I can't do that.” He slowly approaches Cordelia. “Now, please convince your mother to withhold any plans she may have for me. Or, I can't promise your life.”

“I command you to listen to my wife!” Her father withdraws his golden claymore; his strength is impressive. “If you don’t obey her command, I’ll cleave you in two—” He freezes, the clatter of the weapon echoes through the building. Gasps erupt from all attendees.

“Aleck?!” Her mother’s shaken breaths resemble fear.

“I want nothing to do with him. It’s the life of you, and your daughter that interest me. As for the rest of you…my _friend_ will make sure you’re well looked after. Edward snaps his fingers, a man in formal dress materializes before her, distinguishable by his violet eyes.  

_It’s the thief!_

Her heart leaps from her chest, but she feels a tight grip on her arm. King Ryne has secured her.

“Stay away from that man, he’s deadly.” The king whispers to Cordelia. His violet eyes are glazed. No…there’s something wrong with him. He has to be possessed. As the thief raises his hand he reveals a glowing sapphire bracelet to the world. A purple incantation appears in the air; in specks, it swirls around the room—any noble it came in contact with drops within seconds. She had no idea he was this powerful… _Are they dead?_

“I bet you are wondering how you all are still standing,” Edward muses to Cordelia, her mother and King Ryne. “I may have tampered with this man's will. You see, he wasn’t acting appropriate, wanted to betray our cause for you, Princess Cordelia.”

“I didn’t think The Devil’s Spawn would show his face here,” Gale says smoothly _. Devil's spawn?_ “I can’t wait any longer, my liege. I have to end him. By your command,” The man’s white hair glows as the moonlight touches it.

“You have it.” King Ryne replies.

“My god…A real Galatean.” Edward gasps in amazement. He doesn’t attempt to prevent Gale from moving closer. “I didn’t know any of you survived the attack on Wellspring.”

Gale’s focus is on the thief. “Surrender the one with The Devil's Curse to me.”

“You can’t!” Cordelia squirms in King Ryne’s grip.

“Don’t worry, _darling._ The Devil’s Spawn will be cleansed very soon.”

“No!” Cordelia screams. “That man saved my life—you promised me we’d reward him!”

“Reward a dangerous felon? I’m afraid we can’t do that—I made a promise to Gale that if we found the man, we’d end his life."

Cordelia watches helplessly as Radjerd falls to his knees by an unseen force. Gale grabs a handful of the thief’s hair, arching his head back as he places two fingers against his forehead. He mutters something in an incomprehensible language, a silver glow encases the both of them.

“Father, stop him!” Cordelia pleads, but Edward’s grin grows wider as he watches the thief. “He’ll die!”

“That’s what he gets for betraying me.” Edward grins. His stare looms on Cordelia. “Kill him.”

Cordelia screeches in defence; a splutter heard from her right side. A warm liquid spills onto the shoulder of her dress as the grip on her lessens. She didn’t have to look down to see what happened.

_One of Edward’s followers killed King Ryne._

Cordelia doesn’t have much time to act, as she’s grabbed by a cloaked man.

“Unhand my daughter. This is your last warning!” Her mother’s voice shakes with uncertainty.

“I can’t do that, your majesty. Cordelia’s to be my wife. She will help me cleanse the kingdom of Wellspring, and bring it to prosperity.”

“You will do no such thing.” An aura forms around her mother, transitioning into a concentrated orb. A golden shroud erupts through the room, freezing both Edward, Gale, and the man who held her at bay in place. Her spell reverses Edwards, her father and the thief free from their imprisonment. But Cordelia can’t speak. Is this why her mother wanted the wedding _here?_ So she could trap the Delteans.

The thief comes to, springing up from the ground. Freydis enters through the door on the side, helping her friend up. Her father rushes to Cordelia, edging her towards the door Freydis came from.

“Dad?!”

“Your mother placed a spell, freezing anyone of Deltean gifts. I don’t know how long it will last, but we both need you to leave. Fenli is waiting in the hall, she and her companions will escort you to safety.”

Cordelia watches helplessly as she sees her mother’s frozen form; the strain from her body intensifying with every passing second. She swears she can see her mother’s roots darken. “Is she going to die?”

“Go through the door. Fenli, as well as the guards,  will take you far away from here. I need to stay with your mother, to protect her when her magic wears off.”  

“What’s going to happen to her?” Cordelia demands.

“She’s doing what she must for her kingdom.” A stutter in his words makes her stomach drop; he’s avoiding her question. “You will be well protected, I promise you my Delia.” Tears fill his eyes as he pushes her towards the door. “I’m sorry you were used as bait.”  

“Father…FATHER!” She screeches, but she’s lifted by a pair of strong arms; the musty scent of the cell indicates it’s Branton.

“I’m sorry, Cordelia. This is by the queen’s rule.” A familiar voice speaks, belonging to Fenli, the woman her father told her about moments ago. She doesn’t care.

“You don’t understand—I’ve been horrible to her! I need to stay—”

“And do what? Forgive me, but they’re much better off without you here. Your safety is in our hands, we won’t fail you.”

“What my sister means is that your safety matters more to them than anything, which is why we’re here. With you safe, they can protect the palace from the Delteans.”

She doesn’t care to hear their comforting words. “Freydis and Radjerd will meet us outside. For now princess, please be quiet or all of this will be for nothing.”

Cordelia moans in grief, as tears pour down her cheeks.

_Her parents are going to die!_


	21. Chapter 21

<It’s done.>

Radjerd wipes the beads of sweat percolating from his forehead. The sun beat down on his back, his desire for water grows stronger. The roof was in a desperate need of a repair job, and Radjerd was the right man for the job. Alongside Freydis, that is. She hands him a shingle as she brings out a hammer and nail.

<No it’s not, you missed a spot right here. Alteus will have our hides if this isn’t perfect.>

<I know, it’s already a bloody miracle he let us hide out here for as long as he did. I was expected to be handed the book upon our arrival.>

<He’s a good friend.> Freydis is despondent. <That night, it felt unreal to see your body so lifeless. If the queen didn’t use her magic when she did—I can’t imagine what would have happened to you. Do you think the princess also has those powers?>

<I’m not sure.> Sadness compresses his chest. <She’s shut me out completely.>

<Not just you, Fenli was saying the same thing. She’s pretty stubborn to avoid us for as long as she has. I’ve only seen her chat with Fenli and Leander on occasion., but I can’t blame her. Must be one hell of a thing to go through.>

<I don’t see why she won’t come to me.> Radjerd mutters.

<You only knew her for a couple of weeks at best. Just because you fucked her doesn’t mean you get access to all of her thoughts.>

<I never said that.> His frown deepens as he takes the shingle from Freydis’s hand, placing it against the wood. He takes the hammer, securing the shingle to the wooden beam. <She’s going through shit, but she looks at me like I’m the one at fault!>

<Whoa there big guy, no need to hammer a hole into the roof.> Freydis warns.

<Don’t you have a show to practice for?> Radjerd raises a brow.

<Yes, but practice has ended for the day. Fenli has been doing an excellent job too. I was surprised the girl could dance given her short legs but wow, she’s got serious moves. You need to check her out sometime.>

<If you’re trying to sway my interest, it’s not going to work.>

<Whoa!  _Who said you’re getting the privilege to that red-haired goddess_?! > Freydis stiffens. <You’re not getting her—anyways, Princess Cordelia isn’t the only one who’s avoiding being questioned. Your abilities for instance—I saw what that white-haired man did to you. Have you tried summoning them back since?>

<And what would I do with that kind of power, exactly?> Radjerd sighs. <If my abilities are gone, then good riddance if you ask me. Means I can’t be manipulated to use them.> Shivers still erupt through Radjerd’s spine as the memory resurfaces. He hopes more than anything that the queen still had her power of stasis.

<Your eyes are still violet. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?>

Radjerd grunts as he stands up, brushing the dust off of his black slacks. He’s ready to switch the subject. <The sun’s quite aggressive this afternoon. I think it’s time for a drink of water. You coming along?>  

<In a bit, got to look over your work to ensure it’s done right.> Freydis winks. He’s relieved that she didn’t press him more about his magic. Radjerd steps down the ladder, a little girl with bright brown eyes waves from down below. Alteus and Melandra’s daughter; Henlie, if he remembers correctly. She grins a toothy grin.

<Mister Radjerd!> She squeals, grabbing onto his arm. He gently shushes her—having his name yelled so loud could still put him in danger. In a much quieter voice, she asks him to follow her, grabbing onto his pinky. His throat is parched from the heat, but, he agrees to follow her. She leads him into the shade, her feet getting faster until both him and the girl freeze.

A blonde-haired girl wades her fingers through the fountain’s water. Her face is tired, worn. Almost as if she’s been sick. It’s likely the grief she feels for leaving Wellspring behind. Should he approach her? Nerves warn him not to, but his heart wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her.

<She asked me to get you.> The little girl whispers.

<She did?!> It’s a truly surprising notion.

<Yeah, don’t keep her waiting, alrighty?>

She smiles again, scampering towards the back door, leaving Radjerd to stand alone. When his eyes meet Deely’s, she jolts back in surprise. She grasps her simple lavender dress, her stare refusing to leave him.

He takes a deep breath before proceeding.

<Radjerd.> She says his name cordially. <Please sit.> She gently pats a spot next to her as she lets out a worried sigh. He gladly does, scooping the water with his hands before angling his palms to meet his lips. Deely stares at him, not saying a single word. It’s like she’s weighing her options.

<You don’t have to talk about it.>

She recoils, <I wasn’t going to.>

Radjerd grows nervous, <Then why did you get Henlie to fetch me?>

<The kid needed something to do, and frankly, I’ve moped too long. I’m not a child any longer and need to come to terms with happened. I don’t need to discuss it; we all were there that night. I’ll come up with a resolution to fix this.>

<That’s not how healing works, Deely.>

She ignores him. <I was thinking the two of us could go on a walk around the marketplace. It’s been ages since I’ve walked around freely, and I assume you’ll keep me safe.>

It should be fine. After King Ryne’s death, there was worry that the country of St. Antilla would inflame with chaos, but the opposite proved true. His brother kept his wits about him, but due to the oddities of the Wellspring Palace, he’s kept his distance. It’s horrific, to be frozen in time.

<Maybe we could grab a bite in the market. Melandra made me promise I’d have solids tonight. I’ve been barely able to keep anything down—stress is a funny thing.> She laughs it off.

<Allow me to treat you to a light snack then.> Radjerd had a few coins in his pocket. It’d be his honour.

 

Radjerd keeps a watchful eye over the princess, her frown doesn’t ease a bit since they left the property. He truly thought the hustle and bustle of the marketplace would cheer her up, but it only seems to make her even more anxious. They grabbed a couple of fruit at the stands, Radjerd unpocketed his coins, throwing it in the vendor’s hands before he guides her near an empty alleyway. The quiet should help with her senses. He sits her down on a bench. Her form quivers underneath the auburn fabric robe.

<I guess the food isn’t helping.> She laughs half-heartedly.

<You didn’t eat anything—here, have this.> He hands her a banana. She unpeels it with shaky fingers, scoffing it down. It takes a minute for her to speak.

<You feel better?> Radjerd asks, not expecting a river of tears to flow down her cheeks.

<Sorry.> Deely utters, dabbing her tears with her cloak, <I thought I was better.>  

Frustration builds within him as he watches the blonde’s face contort into despair, his eyes build with rage. Guilt clouds his gut, his memories of the event play through his mind. Deely slumps over, her knuckles white with anguish. The tension between them softens but at the same time she inches away from him. He was the sole reminder of what her family lost. A month of distance didn't need to tell him that. 

Radjerd is afraid to talk, in fear that she will run away in haste. It was a mistake bringing her out this far. The clear sky above taunted the couple, giving the illusion that everything is back to the way that it was, before the attack. He shouldn't have surrendered himself to Edward, no matter how tempting it was to get Deely back. He had made a mistake, and because of that, her mother put herself at risk protecting her kingdom. Deely's parents, the only ones who could truly understand what she was going through, were either dead or in stasis.

Radjerd wants to stretch out his hand, to pull Deely into a comforting embrace. This will be the one time he doesn’t act on his impulses. He can't help but feel that all of this is his fault, he knows how ridiculous that claim is. But to see Deely so despondent, spacey; it's not her. But, did he really know her? Maybe Freydis was right, and it was too soon to tell what she's really like. He doesn't like the answer, but now he has to face it. He's got to address Deely honestly.  

<Deely.> He says stiffly, afraid his words will make her flitter away. She doesn't respond, lowering her head to her knees instead. He had to get her mind off of Wellspring. <That day before the show, I was going to ask you to marry me. But even I knew how ridiculous that was. You being a princess and all, and me, a meagre thief. That whole week we were here, I had visions in my head what life could be like for us. The house I would buy us, the laughs we would have. I even imagined bringing you to meet my mother, she loved you. In fact, she saw you as part of the family. Silly, right? Someone who looks like me, dreaming of marriage to someone clearly out of my league.>  

Deely lifts her head as her eyebrows press together.

<You've lost your bloody mind.> 

Radjerd could not say why he let out of chuckle, but it felt good. To hear that incredulous voice of hers, god did he miss it.

<When I was doing errands for Alteus, it showed me something about the life that I want. I’ve wanted nothing more than to have a normal life—it’s what I fought for until I met you. It doesn't have to be marriage, I just want a life where you’re in it. I don't know how we would be able to do this, what steps I'd have to take to win your hand, but I want a chance. Even if it means that our adventure isn't over yet, I’m willing to do it. Please believe me, I would never lead you astray, Deely.>

<You can't be serious. Did you see what those monsters did to my parents? They almost did to you? They took your powers, they could have even taken your life. And if they did that I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself.> Her voice raises as she clasps her robes. <Your people are without their king. He died due to my negligence. If I just did what everyone wanted me to from the start, maybe he'd still be alive.> Tears lace her eyes as she utters her last word.

<His death wasn't your fault, it's Edwards. I promise that bastard will pay for what he did to you, your family. By my hand, we'll see him fall.>

<But how are you going to do that? He wiped you of your abilities, I can understand that you want to help me, my kingdom, but I don't think we can. It's up to my mother—if she can keep both Edward’s team and the Galatean in stasis. Fenli told me everything about my mother’s plan. The setup with King Ryan, the marriage to lure out the Delteans, everything. How the hell can I save anyone when I'm so goddamn useless? My own mother was trying to apologize for everything that she's done, but I was too angry to see it. I have to live with that for the rest of my life, instead of telling my mother I loved her, I essentially just told her to piss off. I didn't even get the chance to say...Goodbye.>

Her voice breaks, the emotion inside her bubbling out. Carefully, he guides the princess to his chest. Choked sobs can be heard through the air. All the guilt she felt pouring out on his lap, moisture lines the edges of his lids. He softly blinks as he places his hand on top of hers.

<We will get your kingdom back.> Radjerd doesn’t know how, but he’ll find a way.  

<I must have been a horrible burden on you all, moping about as I have been.>

<Nobody blames you for what happened to you, god I hope you know that. Alteus and Melandra only want to see you well.>

<But I can't stop thinking about what I said to my mother, that we were finished and there is no hope for us. I don't think I'll ever forget that. I don't think I'll ever stop hurting. I don't even know if she's dead, but I can't go back. There's nothing I can do, and you can't do anything since their powers are gone. Gale deserves to perish for what he did to you.>

<Gale?>

<The Galatean. He told me that he wanted to end the man who bore The Devils Curse, but by the time I remembered that, it was already two weeks too late…how the hell can I be the princess my people deserve? I ran away from my own kingdom, leaving them at the whims of these people!>

<You did it at the orders of your mother, the queen.> Radjerd reminds her. <There’s nothing you could have done.>

<But I can’t stay here forever. There has to be a way to help them.>

<We’ll talk to Freydis, Branton, Fenli, and Leander. Between the five of us, there should be a way for us to fight back. I just…don’t know yet.>

<I don’t expect they’ll want to risk their lives, and I don’t blame them.>

<Even if they’re not prepared to fight, they will help us get there. Regarding Freydis however, she’s always ready to kick ass.> Radjerd’s new mission; he would do whatever it takes to get her right again so she could face her kingdom. But how they were supposed to do that was beyond him. Maybe Fenli would have a solution or even Leander. The kid really proved his worth in that giant book he had taken from the hidden cathedral.

Radjerd stands up, tripping over a blurry white creature passing his feet. He turns his head an alarm to investigate, the white fiend scooters down the alleyway.

<Was that a…cat?> Cordelia perks up.  

<Cats usually don't frequent this area very often unless they want to be dinner.> He says with a tinge of confusion. <Which just has me worried even more now. I quite like pet cats.> Their temperamental nature couldn't help but remind him of a certain princess.

<Well if it's going to be eaten, surely we should attempt to save it.> Cordelia hops to her feet ready for her new adventure. If we leave now, we might be able to catch up to it before somebody else finds it.

<I didn't take you for a lover of cats. He laughs again sticking his hands in his pockets. But if you want to find the animal I'm not going to be the one to stop you.>

<I sure hope you wouldn't. I've had cats growing up, their independence is something to aspire to. Have you ever seen a helpless cat because I sure haven't.>

<You don't strike me as the type who likes animals.>

<I'm not as cold as you have previously thought.> Deely scolds him, picking up her skirts as she hops off the bench.  

Radjerd scratches his head; how did they go from the siege of a kingdom to a cat chase? He feels a burst of adrenaline as he follows the princess down the alleyway.

This might be the very distraction Deely needs.


	22. Chapter 22

<Catch it, catch it!> Cordelia excitedly yells as she waves her arm towards the fluffy white ball in front of them. Her breathes are deep and staggered—its been ages since she had ran this fast. It's taking a toll on her lungs, as embarrassed as she was to admit it. Yet, it brings her relief; her worries have been previously washed away by the creature before them. Its striking blue eyes narrowed as its lips reel back, showing its teeth as it spits out a hiss.

Cordelia backs up as the howling creature bears its claws, mildly irritated by the display. This wasn’t the desired outcome

Radjerd laughs, <I thought that you said that cats liked you?>  

<I don't know what's wrong with this one. Clearly, she doesn't have much training.> Cordelia says indignantly. <I’m insulted that you think I’d lie to you.>

<She? I see you've already assigned it a gender.>

<Well, it looks like a she!> Gorgeous, knot-free show white fur, icy blue eyes lined with a black streak under the eyelid. It could have been male, but _she_ slips out. She scowls when Radjerd says, <In fact, this cat reminds me of someone…> His drawn pause allows Cordelia to come up with her own conclusion.

<Are you implying that I act like a hissing animal? Because I'll have you know that you’re the one who kidnapped me. Of course I wasn't going to respond well to that, you would be a moron if you think I would.> The cat hisses again, not taking kindly to Cordelia’s raised voice.

<Calm down, you’ll scare her.> Radjerd whispers.

Cordelia turns to the cat, raising a suspicious brow. <It’s not like we backed her into a corner, she’s just choosing to snarl.>

A chuckle escapes the man’s lips as he observes the situation. Cordelia has no doubt he’s making silly comparisons in his head. She widens her eyes in alarm when he bends down.

<Are you honestly going to touch that animal? It'll probably kill you.>

<No, it won't. If I could kidnap you without much of a scratch, then this cat should be no problem.> There's a twinkle in his eye that Cordelia doesn't appreciate. If he doesn’t watch his words, the cat wouldn’t be the only thing he’d have to worry about. She watches as Radjerd stretches his hands towards the cat, keeping his palms out for this animal to sniff. Cordelia shocked when she relaxes, her fur no longer sticking on end. The fluffy white creature cautiously approaches the thief, politely sniffing his fingers. She rubs her face against his palm, appearing to enjoy his scent. Even though the cat didn’t show favour to Cordelia, she still feels betrayed. It wasn't fair, that cat was supposed to like her more. How was she supposed to prove that animals liked her if this one was vehemently repulsed by her presence? Cordelia's brows furrow as she watches the cat climb onto his lap. _Unbelievable!_

A smug smirk crosses his lips as he raises his brows at Cordelia. <Now this is how you train a wild kitten.>  

<You better not be referencing me…> Cordelia crosses her arms and disdain as she tilts her nose to the sky.

<I didn't have to.> He grins suspiciously.

<We went over this, the cat is nothing like me.>  

<Well kept fur, elegant appearance, fiery temper...> He purrs the last word purposely.

<You’re terrible.> Cordelia's hands develop into fists as a hot blush stains her cheeks

<Actually...> Radjerd says as he rubs the cat's belly, <I might name her Deely.>  

<There is no way you’re going to name that cat after me. I won't have it.>

An ill-timed meow makes the thief’s grin even broader.

Cordelia changes the subject quickly. <This cat escaped from her owner, no wild cat would look that nice.>

<True…> Radjerd ponders briefly. It looks like he’s about to make a comparison to her situation, but the idea visibly fades from his expression. She wouldn’t have been mad…in fact, if the cat escaped for the same reasons she did, she may have garnered sympathy for the animal.

<We should leave her be.> Cordelia concludes. <It’s my mistake for wanting to chase her down.> She wasn’t expecting to garner sympathy for the animal that quickly.

<You just don’t want the cat because she’d be competition.>

 _< In_ _what sense, exactly? >_ She growls. 

<Now that's the Deely I know.> Radjerd chuckles with ferocity.

He was egging her on purpose, _bastard._ <Don't get used to it.> She grumbles, narrowing her steel-blue eyes at him. <I'm not interested in providing you amusement.>

<That's such a shame; you're so good at it.>

Her eyes go back to the cat who is playfully docile in his lap. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't slightly jealous. But only just a little. It's not like Cordelia wanted tummy scratches, the very idea is appalling. She takes two steps back, what she sees Radjerd take the cat in his arms.

<What are you doing?>

<Nothing. I’m just holding this sweet, _sweet_ animal.>  

<You’re not actually _thinking_ of taking this cat home with us?> Cordelia voices out of worry. <What if the owner is worried sick? And what's worse what if said owner decides to go looking for her, and then they somehow figure out where to look. In fact, what if they recognize my face? Honestly, I shouldn’t even be out here.>  

<Ah, you're right.> He says with a hint of dismay to his tone as he places the cat back down. He whispers to the cat that he may have just met her, but he loves her more than life itself. The cat lets out a pained meow as if it understands him. <if you don't have an owner then you can meet me at Shastican's Delight. I'll give you a nice home.>

Cordelia rolls her eyes.  It’s not like the cat could understand what he’s saying.

 

<Where the hell have you two been?> A concerned Fenli meets Cordelia and Radjerd at the back entrance. Her arms are tightly crossed, her cheeks reddened with concern.

<I didn’t mean to worry you.> Cordelia feels her chest sink. She knows how much Fenli had to leave behind in order to keep her safe. She did owe Fenli an explanation. <I wanted to stretch my feet a bit, but I won’t wander off without letting you know first.>

<I really hope not.> She sees the tears in the woman’s eyes. <I was worried sick about you.>

<Hun, Rad might be a dolt, but he’d protect the _princess_ with his life.> Freydis saunters into the room, placing a confident hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder. <He’s got to be good for something.>

Cordelia hides a chuckle when she sees Radjerd’s deep frown.

<I suppose so…>  Fenli sighs, taking comfort in Freydis’s small gesture. <I don’t mean to be overbearing, but I received this shortly after you disappeared, I thought the two may have been correlated.> She pulls a sealed letter from her pocket, her hand visibly shakes as she hands it to Cordelia. <I don’t know what’s inside, but the fact they knew where to send it is what concerns me. The letter might be okay since it’s sealed with blue ink, but it still worries me.>

Cordelia’s heart drops. Weren’t the Delteans in stasis due to her mother’s magic? Even thinking about it…it causes her fingers to curl. No, she couldn’t lose her composure. She’s in the best possible position to be in.

There’s no way they’d be able to use her father’s blue ink.

The seal crumbles as she opens the letter, her father’s handwriting stares back at her. Her chest sinks the minute she reads the fine print. All it says is,

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the shorter chapter this week. I hope Cat Deely's cuteness makes up for it. <3


	23. Chapter 23

She can’t breathe. If Radjerd didn’t catch Cordelia before she fell to the ground, she would have landed with a thud. There’s no way that her father would send such a rushed note…unless…his life was on the line. Cordelia gulps, _If he wasn’t already dead._ No, she can’t think of such a dastardly thing. Her father wouldn’t send something like this to her unless it was safe to do so. It’s not like her father to lead the enemy straight to her—but _why_ would send those three little words?

Panic resurfaces as she grips his arm, the only solitary place she can grab. He’s warm, comforting.

“May I see the letter?” Fenli asks softly. Cordelia nods, her hand trembling as she hands it over. She wants to yell when Fenli’s face lights up, but it then falls just as quickly. “There’s more to this letter, but I won’t be able to read it unless I have a stained magnifying glass. Leander and I used to send letters like this to each other quite often when we were sprouts, but to think the king himself might use it…” She studies the paper with a keen eye, as Cordelia translates what Fenli had said to both Radjerd and Freydis.

<Where the hell’re we going to find one of those? I’m all for a treasure hunt, but what makes her so sure there’s hidden print?> Freydis sighs in dismay.

<It’s worth a try.> Cordelia says, her voice weak. Her frame is weary; that’s what she gets for hardly eating. She keeps to the Antillan tongue, <If my father did, in fact, send a hidden message, it’s because he knew the two of you could read it.> Her nerves aren’t soothed, but it’s a start. She’s glad Fenli spoke up before she lost herself.

A strong hand grips Cordelia’s waist, as Freydis raises a brow. <Now isn’t the time to get all _feely_ with Deely.> Was she trying to rhyme on purpose?

<I’m not; can’t you see she can hardly stand?> Radjerd grumbles in response. <I’m not trying to take advantage.>

Freydis ignores him, her frown morphs into a concerned purse. <Are you okay, sweetie?>

Cordelia nods. <Yeah, I’m just a bit rattled, that’s all.>  

Freydis shakes her head as she walks over, taking the initiative to lift Cordelia off of her feet. A nasty blush stains her face when she’s inches away from the woman’s face. <I’ll take you to your room.> She winks, Cordelia too flushed to respond. Radjerd follows in haste, his disapproval apparent in his grunts.

Freydis walks Cordelia to her room, asking Radjerd to open the door for them. She places Cordelia on the small mattress, her back sinking into the comfort it provides. <Now do you want some time alone, or would you rather him stay?> She crosses her arms, eying the thief with distrust. What spurned this on?

<It’s okay, he can stay.> Cordelia replies shyly. She doesn’t understand why Freydis is so protective—how Cordelia reacted to the letter, perhaps? Regardless, it was touching how she showed her concern.

<Well, alright. Holler if he’s being a nuisance; you need your rest.> Freydis eyeballs Radjerd as she closes the door.

Cordelia’s aware of how deathly quiet this room is; it felt like a lifetime since they were in isolation together. Radjerd pulls up a chair, placing it by the bed as he sits down. He holds her hand as he leans closer to her. <I’m not leaving your side, so don’t think about asking.>

<I don’t want you to.> Cordelia responds softly, his presence helping her not lose her ground. <If I did, Freydis would have you out of here in seconds. I believe it, if she could lift me with ease.>

<You wouldn’t need Freydis—if you really wanted me gone, I’d have left you alone. Why do you think I left you alone for as long as I did?>

<But you just said—>

<If you want me to leave, I’d do it. I…I’m worried about you. I’m sorry if I come off as overbearing.>

<You’re not. In fact, I appreciate your company.> Given all that’s transpired, she’s more than appreciative. She’s grateful.

Radjerd’s smile grows solemn, <Leander is a smart boy, if anyone can figure out this letter, it’s him.>

God, no. Not the reminder. Cordelia’s constitution weakens; the fact her father sent her a letter at all, it’s bad news. There’s no way it couldn’t be. She grips his hand tighter, taking in deep breaths.

<Deely, I’m going to help you.> He says, gripping her hand. <We all are, don’t forget that.>

<Just—don’t talk about it. Please.> She closes her eyes, attempting to keep her tears back. The tightness in her chest returns, her ability to speak becomes troubled. She’s getting lost in the feeling of doubt and overbearing guilt, but she knows he won’t leave. She can’t ask him to, because a part of her wants him to see how deep her pain is.

<Deely?>

She turns away, deciding that she doesn’t want to be seen, her hands covering her entire face. Strands of blonde cover her arms, as she feels his warm hand on her waist. His weight causes Cordelia to fall against his chest as he gently squeezes his arms around her. He rests his chin on her shoulder, pulling her closer. Her body’s calmed immediately, having his secure presence envelop her. She relaxes into his hold.

<I’ve missed this.> He purrs gently, her ear tickling from the vibration of his voice. She couldn't describe how much she missed this, the warmth of his skin against her back. Parts of her hair are tousled around her face, but she doesn't care. As she breathes, the sweet smell of cinnamon caresses her nose. It's reminiscent to her time here, memories that she and the thief had shared. It seemed like it was a lifetime ago, the last time they were here together. Before everything went to shit. Cordelia allows her breath to draw slowly from her mouth, taking in this moment. She closes her eyes, allowing her mind to drift. Memories of Shastacan's Delight swirl through her brain, her experiences as a dancer come to the forefront. She saw the way that Fenli and Freydis danced, the pride they felt as they took each step on the stage. It was too risky for Cordelia to do the same; keeping her out of public view was for the best. She stops; reminding herself why it's dangerous to think that way. She was supposed to calm herself down, not work herself back up. She allows herself to relax again, stroking the sheet with her palm.

His soft breaths tickle her ear; resembling a person in slumber. Had he fallen asleep? A quirk forms at the edge of her lips. If her presence could bring the man comfort, then she has no problem with the arrangement. She tries to follow suit, mimicking his breaths to calm her heart down. To her surprise, her eyes grow heavy. She too needed the rest from reality. God knows what they might find in her father’s letter. But the most pressing question was:

Why did she keep Radjerd at a distance?

The security and reassurance he provides her is unrivalled; all from having him blanketing her with his presence. Melandra was right in coercing her to reach out, even if it was him that confronted her first. She encouraged the idea of his support being paramount, it’d help her through this traumatic event.

One that could become so much worse depending on the transcription.

She clasps her hands together and prays.

If there was a being overlooking them; she needed the blessing it could provide. She’d trade her own life for it.

 

Cordelia stirs; her movement hinged by the man beside her. She almost forgets he’s there; a weariness to her breath indicates that she dozed off.  She turns her head but is stopped when she feels his nose against her shoulder. She doesn’t want to injure him. She places her hand on his arm; he’s clammy.

They both are.

The fabric of her dress sticks to her skin—she hadn’t even realized the temperature. If she could worm her way out of his grasp, maybe she wouldn’t wake him up. It’s a failed attempt—the moment she tries, his grip around her intensifies.

<Who said you were allowed to leave?> He says with a slur—she must have woken him.

<I do, now please remove your arms.>

<Since you asked _nicely,_ I will.> Sarcasm drips from his words as he lets go. Cordelia lets out a small laugh in response. With a serious tone he asks, <How are you holding up?>

<I’m…okay. The nap helped.> A slight blush crosses her cheeks. There’s no reason for her to feel embarrassed, yet her cheeks trickle with the feeling.  

His face relaxes, <I haven’t had a rest that nice in a long while.> It’d be daft to assume that the thief didn’t have any worries lingering, more than likely because of her. Not only that, but his magic was ripped from him. She tries not to think about it. He glides his fingers along her arm, coercing her to lie back down.

<I’m too warm.> She says truthfully. Even though she’s spent a month in these warm conditions, laying next to someone made her temperature boil. <And, they might have something to the letter my father sent.>

<You think so?> He rubs his chin.

<I hope Fenli’s right about the letter. I can’t bear to think that my father—> Her throat tightens. Tears spring from the corners of her eyes as she turns away from the thief.

<Deely,> He leans up, placing his hand over hers.

<If you and Fenli didn’t get me out, I could have died…I know you did your best for me.>

<I’d do it again.> There’s an eagerness to his words.

<I don’t see why, but I won’t dwell on that.> She sighs. <You were both brave, and stupid.>

<Perhaps, but you’re worth it.>

She sucks in her breath, embarrassed by his claim. She lowers her head, looking at her knees. <I must have been quite the lay for you to chase after me like that.> Did she really just say that? That’s highly improper—Cordelia knew better…

He doesn’t say a word—shit. Did she offend him?

Relief fills her when he chuckles instead. <You don’t know how nice it is to hear you crack a joke.>

<I was…kind of. Why did you come after me?>

<I have my reasons…> His voice drifts off. <I thought I made that clear when we at the marketplace?>

<Yeah, I thought you were trying to get a reaction out of me…>

<Not exactly.> He says with irritation.

The door opens, Fenli and Leander’s eyes are on Cordelia, the letter tightly gripped in Leander’s hand. They don’t have to say a word, she knows why they’re here.

There’s more to the letter after all.


	24. Chapter 24

“What does it say?” Cordelia addresses them calmly.

Fenli’s stare is curious, had she expected Cordelia to act hysterical? It’s a fair assumption, but her time with Radjerd had calmed her greatly. His presence had that effect on her. “Leander had spent quite a while translating this letter. The good news is that your father’s okay. He’s been escorted from the castle—by force. He’s in a safe house, despite his protests to stay by the queen’s side.” Her frown etches into her jaw. “We don’t know how much time the queen has before the spell breaks. It could be months, or it could be years. Your father informs that once she’s exhausted, her powers will fall to you.”

“What?” Cordelia’s face freezes in fear. “That can’t be possible unless…she dies.”

Fenli’s pained, her head tilts to the side to save herself from seeing Cordelia’s face. “I pray that doesn’t happen.”

“… _No.”_ Her tears surface, her worst fears presented right in front of her. Cordelia wouldn’t let herself cry in front of them—not like she had before She had to appear brave—but right now, she had to leave.  “Pardon me, but I need a minute.” 

Cordelia calmly slides past Freydis, Fenli and Radjerd, quickening her pace to the garden. She takes residence at the fountain, her dishevelled reflection stares back at her. Her mother’s going to die…and then what? The Delteans will take over Wellspring and all its denizens? It’s unfair, _unjust._ Tears line her cheeks, caressing her jaw before splashing onto the stone ledge. Her knees buckle as her chest tightens. Gripping the edge of the fountain, she lets out a choked sob.

_Meow._

It takes a bit, but Cordelia raises her head, following the unusual sound she hears. That couldn’t be a cat… _especially the cat from earlier._ There’s no way _that cat_ was smart enough to follow them home. She investigates the garden, searching behind the straw-like bushes that lean against the clay exterior. She leans in, moving the twiggy brush with her forearm. A pair of eyes leer back at her, a wet hissing sound encourages her to keep her distance. She closes the brush, backing up intently. Yep, that’s the nasty cat from earlier. Was it…possible that Radjerd charmed it? No, he alluded that he lost his abilities when Gale purged them. As long as the cat was hissing at her, she wanted nothing to do with it.

<Deely?> She doesn’t hear Radjerd’s footsteps, his presence surprising her. <You’re not going to shut me out again, are you?>  

<No…> Her voice hitches a bit. <That’s not my intention.> She allows him to approach, Radjerd resting his hands around hers.

<You looked like you were going to escape.> He nods upward, gesturing to the brush.

<No, I wasn’t planning anything. It’s _that_ cat—it followed us home.> She mumbles, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Radjerd’s face lights up as he moves toward the twiggy mound, twigs snap as he reaches in for the animal. Cordelia expected the creature would jump into his arms, but seeing it happen—it irks her. The white cat purrs, nuzzling up against his chest. He raises a brow when his hands touch the cat's belly.

<She’s chunkier than I expected.>

<Means she’s well-fed, doesn’t it?> Cordelia crosses her arms.

<Deely, she’s a homeless kitten. I’ll see if Alteus doesn’t mind if we keep her.> A silly grin plasters across the man’s lips. <I’ve wanted a pet for quite some time.> Those words hit her oddly, the calmness in Radjerd’s violet eyes glisten. He had the same look when he talked about marrying her. Why was it now that she made the connection—he yearned for a normal life.

What shocks Cordelia most of all—she wants to be a part of it. Her heart leaps as she takes a step back to catch her breath. She wanted that life with him all along. Why did it take her looking at that stupid cat to realize it?

<I’m sure Alteus won’t object. His daughter will appreciate its presence I’m sure.>

Radjerd laughs, <Meaning that you don’t?>

Cordelia rolls her eyes, <It wants to kill me.>

<No _she_ doesn’t. _Deely_ would never. >

<You’re not naming her Deely.> Cordelia crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes fiercely. <Or I’ll tell Alteus that cats give me the sniffles.>

The thief smirks, challenging Cordelia’s words. <I doubt it.>

<You have no idea what I’m capable of doing, you forget that my own father is the king…> Her voice stops midway, all vigour leaving her words. <Just…name her whatever you please.>

Radjerd gently places the cat down. He brushes Cordelia’s stray blonde hairs from her face. As good as it feels, she keeps her focus off of him. If she meets Radjerd’s concerned gaze, she’ll start to bawl. That’s the last thing she wants to do right now.

Radjerd breathes deeply, almost as if he’s nervous. <I have a surprise for you.>

<What is that?>

He slides her hand around his waist, as he intertwines his fingers with hers. Cordelia gasps when Radjerd whisks the blonde around in a circle, his steps fast. If memory didn’t serve her, she would have tripped. If she wasn’t mistaken…was he attempting the Weltish Waltz with her?

<It’s noble of a suitor to prove light on his feet, isn’t it?>

Cordelia looks up at him, a deep flush engulfs her cheeks as he spins her around. She had no idea he could dance?!

<I became aware there would never be a right time to take your hand, but I hope this will lift your spirits.>

It’s been so _long_ since she’s danced with a suitable partner. It’s a magical feeling. She can almost see the checkered floor of her ballroom as he leads her in Weltish dance, him in a finely dressed suit, her in her midnight gown. It’s as if the two were in a lucid state, nothing surrounding them but each other.

For a brief moment, Cordelia feels relief, glee… _love._

<It’s working…> She whispers when she leans her head against his chest. Her imagination runs off, imagining the glimmering moonlight on their well-dressed forms; all eyes upon them. He’s a mysterious well-dressed stranger, and her, the Princess of Wellspring. The two dance, soft gasps around them in awe of their performance. All eyes are on them—and—his eyes are on her.

<Radjerd.> She says softly.

<Princess Cordelia,> He responds, leaning her chin forward. <I am yours to command.>

Her heart melts at the sentiment; the dance halts as she lifts her toes to match his height. She still has a ways to go, but it was just enough for their lips to meet. A warm sensation courses through her when she melts into his embrace, the man returning her affections as he lifts her up.

<I love you.>

Those very words break Cordelia from her spell, staring at the thief before her, his presence not any less impressive. She doesn’t care what he wears. His warm violet eyes settle on hers, strong in their conviction.

<I…> Her eyes moisten; this time in happiness. <I also do.>

A happy chuckle escapes his lips as he spins her around, no words leave his lips. She’s never seen the glee on his face—he’s as docile as Freydis had mentioned.

He lets her down, an arm still wrapped around her. <I’ve been thinking…about my powers. There might be a way we can still access them.>

<How so?>

<My ma said I inherited this ability from my father. I gather he still may be alive somewhere, but I’d have no idea where to look. She might know where the man may be.>

<You’re not seriously considering…>

<I am. If it means we can stop the Delteans, and save your mother…I’ll do it.>

A soft gasp leaves Cordelia’s lips. He’s willing to embark on a search for a man he disliked, to save her kingdom. Instead of anguish and fear, she feels elated, hopeful. If Radjerd was correct, his father had the same abilities he did. Cordelia would ensure that their kingdom would compensate both men (and the others) handsomely for their troubles. Maybe…she could convince Radjerd to stay with her in the palace—her father could train him to become a knight. It may take years, but if it meant she could be in his presence…she’d wait for him. This is the man she wants to marry.

<With King Ryne’s death, things won’t be easy. We’ll have to find a way to disguise you, just in case you’re discovered.> He looks her up and down, his lips spread into a grin. <Although while saying that, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.>

Cordelia’s eyes widen when she sees Freydis at the doorway; she hadn’t been standing there for long, but Cordelia does tap Radjerd’s arm to let them know they’re not alone. How _quaint_ that he revisit his roguish antics. What Cordelia misses is that she’s cradling the cat.

<Where did you find this pretty girl, hmm? You’re a pretty momma, aren’t you?> Freydis swoons over the fluffball, who _doesn’t seem to mind Freydis one bit._ Cordelia inwardly growls.

<Momma?> Radjerd asks aloud.

Freydis rolls her eyes. <I’m not going to bother explaining how I know, as it _should_ be obvious with her engorged— _you knows._ But it’s clear she’s carrying a litter. Why else do you think she’s so friendly? >

Cordelia gawks. This nasty cat was going to have _kittens?_ If maternity was supposed to make her friendlier, then why did it seem the opposite with her? Maybe Freydis doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

<Anywhosies, I came to see how you were doing, _princess._ I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it might be best if we can get you fighting fit…in case of the worst. I don’t like the idea of the Delteans running any kingdom, even if I’m not the biggest supporter of Weltish politics.>

<I know I do.> Cordelia nods.

<We’re talking about visiting Ma; maybe she can help us find my father.>

<The hell you want to see that asshat for?!> Freydis exclaims. He’s been nothing but a traitor to your family! He left Leanna and you to perish! I’ll tear the balls off of that man if I ever see him.>

<I don’t want to meet the man either, but Gale sucked away my powers.> Freydis stays silent, the reminder still fresh in her mind. <If I can convince him a kingdom is in need of his services, his selfishness might pull through and he’ll help us. After, we need never see him again.>

Freydis turns to Cordelia. <That might be a bargain. When Leander translated the letter, he said that we may not be given much time to act. If we’re on a chase to find Rad’s _dear old dad,_ who’s to say we’ll find him in time?>

Cordelia didn’t need that harsh reminder.

<It’s the best chance we have.> Radjerd says sternly. <If he can suck the life out of those bastards, it’ll be worth every minute I searched. And, my ma’s probably worried sick about me. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been home.>

The curvaceous woman grimaces, <Fine. I can’t promise you I won’t slap him upside the head.>

<Thank you.> Cordelia’s appreciation swells within her. <For…everything.>

<Eh, it’s no biggie.> She throws her hand back. <I’m an adventurous spirit—and besides, you’re royalty. I know if I stay close to you, riches will follow.>

Cordelia can’t say she’s surprised. In fact, she’s thankful the woman has a materialistic streak. If not, she may have departed a while ago. With both Radjerd and Freydis by her side, she might be able to do this.

She could save Wellspring.   


	25. Chapter 25

<Not that I want to stifle your spirits, but Freydis and I are contractually obligated to perform.> Fenli cuts in.

<She’s right,> Freydis smirks. <There’s no way I’m missing out on the hard work I put in.>

<The performance is in three nights, so that should be enough time to prepare.> Radjerd taps his chin. <I’ll see if I can get the word out to my mother so she can be better prepared.>

<That may take a while.> Leander raises a brow. <Mail’s been bogged since… _you know._ > She didn’t need to say it. King Ryne’s death had the entire country in chaos. It’s hard to forget the horrific gurgling sound over her shoulder—how his body crumpled to the ground. Cordelia shuts her eyes. <I apologize, _princess._ I didn’t mean to stir your memories. >

<It’s the truth,> Cordelia admits. <I know you didn’t mean any harm.>

<You have my apologies regardless of their intention. While my sister and her… _partner_ dance, I’ll see if I can map out the route. I’ll need Oland—erm—Radjerd’s help with the location, and maybe we can travel a way that doesn’t have as much foot-traffic.> He shoots a dirty look at Freydis who chuckles in response.

<Ah, I see you’re protective. You have every reason to be.> She licks her lips to egg on the teen.

Radjerd ignores their shenanigans, <It’s worth an attempt. In the meantime, I can work more jobs to get a bit of coin under my belt.> She’s been aware of Radjerd’s working hours, but hearing him say it…it’s juxtaposed to when she met the man only months before. He had a fiendish look to him, whereas now, his face has softened. His violet eyes rest on her when he says, <Maybe we should take advantage of that.>

<Of what?> Cordelia asks.

<An outing, nowhere far. There’s this place I’d love to show you, it’s breathtaking in the late hours. We’ll go the night of the show.>

<No fair.> Freydis crosses her arms in detest, <Always doing the fun stuff when I’m not there.>

<I assure you, _that’s_ not what—oh, never mind!> She’s not getting into this right now. <After the performance, I’d like to get moving. It troubles me that I have to wait.>

Leander speaks up, <Hopefully your mother doesn’t live too far away.>

<It’s far enough that it will take a couple of days.> Radjerd frowns, <We’ll work on the map together; it shouldn’t take long.>

 

The stars glisten above Shastican’s Delight, delivering the perfect setpiece for tonight’s show. Cordelia would have watched, but Radjerd invited her away. They agreed to leave after the performance, as both Fenli and Freydis were on a contract. Fair enough, Cordelia thought, but it’d have been too hard for her to watch. She wanted to dance _so bad_ , the dance Radjerd had surprised her with days ago was a taste of what she missed. If she could only have courted him in secret, where only her parents would have been troublesome—not where she had to hide from her people like a coward. But tonight wasn’t supposed to be about that. Radjerd promised her an evening where they could have peace together—her cheeks flushing at the picture in her mind. Did he have other nightly activities planned? She hopes so.

Cordelia braids her hair, the only style she knew how to do. She didn’t feel right in asking Melandra or the other girls to help, she was staying in their care—off the backs of everyone else. Whatever Cordelia could do herself, she would.  

Her room is tiny, but she got used to it over the course of her stay. It’s quaint, decorated with exotic furnishings that could only be found here in St. Antilla. If they had only stayed in St. Antilla, maybe things would have been different. What Radjerd said in the marketplace…maybe they could have gotten married. _God._ What kind of daydreams was she having now? She laughed in his face!

There’s no way he would ask again.

A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts, Melandra’s gentle smile eases her mood. <I didn’t mean to bother you, hun.> Cordelia looks at the purple gown slung over her forearm. Its glitter trim dazzles her eyes. <I thought this may be appropriate for your _date_ tonight. It’s a costume, but you should look your finest—you’re _royalty_ for goodness sake!>  

Cordelia raises a brow as she folds her arms tightly, <Is my current look not good enough?>

<I didn’t mean it like _that._ You’re a princess, I only thought…>

<Forgive me, I’m being ungracious.> Cordelia’s lips eased into a grin. <I shouldn’t scorn you.>

<I pay no mind to it, my daughter gives me far more lip.> Melandra chuckles, <This dress, it’s one of our finest garbs. I pray that it fits you.> She unravels the dress, the glitter isn’t just in the trim, but the entire skirt! Her eyes are captivated by the rainbow-like effect of the light, the strapless gown dazzles her eyes. Tears form in her eyes as she covers her mouth; it’s _beautiful!_

<That’s the response I was hoping for. Now hurry and put this on. I want to see how it looks on you.> She hands the dress to Cordelia. She takes off her simple blue garb, allowing it to fall to the floor. From the public baths she endured, this was _nothing._ She keeps her chemise on as she slips the dress over her shoulders, Melandra ties the bodice in the back. There’s no pull or give; it fits perfectly.  She nods her head with dignity; a job well done.

<Turn around, I want to see you.>

Cordelia does as the woman instructs, clapping her hands together as she gasps, <You look _divine! >_

Cordelia walks to the mirror on the wall, inspecting the flare around her waist. It’s dashingly modern, showing her arms completely. The dressings on her shoulders match the poof of the skirt; completing the peace. She’s not sure if she should have her hair in a braid, or ask Melandra to pin it up. She brings her braid forward, inspecting it before she decides. It’s like Melandra can read her mind. <I’d love to do up your hair, but I’m already pushing it with the dress. If you look _too_ fancy, someone might recognize you.>

<You don’t think the dress is too flashy? It’ll grab the attention of anyone who sees it.> Cordelia frowns.

<I want this outing for you and Rad to be special. Knowing him, he’s put a lot of thought into this date. Confirmed by my chatty husband.>

Cordelia flushes, <I don’t know about that. I saw how busy he was.>

<Even busier when he’s off his shifts. Alteus pays his workers fairly.> A starry-eyed gaze hints her thoughts are elsewhere. <It’ll be so nice when all of this is over—maybe there is a way the two of you can be together.>

<I appreciate the well-wishes but we’re a long way from there.> Cordelia laughs half-heartedly. _This is only slightly awkward._

<I know. I _know_ what he says to Alteus, and it’s just sad to think—no, enough of that. The moon is full tonight, picking this date to grace you both with its presence.

 _She sure loved living vicariously through Cordelia, didn’t she?_ Yet, Melandra’s right—the full moon was upon them. The last full moon—the Palace of Wellspring was attacked—guilt bubbles to the surface. Should she be going out with something like this looming over her? It just seems…unfair. She has to change the subject, anything will do.

<Do you remember where Radjerd said to meet?>

<Why are you asking me?> Her eyes widen with confusion. <But if I were to guess, he’d be waiting in the gardens for you. The place you’ll be going will be the Oasis down the hill, right?>

<I think so…my memory is a little foggy.> It wasn’t a lie, Cordelia had trouble remembering even the littlest of things. Must have been stress…

<This isn’t the first time you’ve been forgetful.> Melandra reminds her out of concern.  

<I’m okay, just a lot on my mind.>

<You’re right. I shouldn’t press—you two deserve a fun night out. I’ll lend you a matching cloak. That way, you can cover your head if you get chilly.>

<And keep my identity safe.> Cordelia nods.

<I’m not so worried about _that,_ as I gave him keys to the cabin below.> She winks, <I _remember_ the last time, with the Rose Nectar.>

<HUSH!> She orders, her face burning. She didn’t need reminders of _that horrid drink._

<I’ll admit, it should shock me more _because_ you’re royalty, but it makes sense that you’d have needs. It’d be stranger if you didn’t _. > _Melandra’s grin is borderline maniacal.

<It wasn’t intentional—> Cordelia stifles a groan.

<I’m teasing, don’t get your knickers in a knot. I think this date will help him with his own worries—about the possibility of meeting his father again.>

Cordelia nods, <I know it’s hard for him. He didn’t speak highly of the man—hell—he doesn’t even know if his father’s alive.>

Melandra shakes her head, <Regardless, this night should be about the two of you, none of this nonsense. Worry about it all tomorrow.> She presses a finger to her lips as she examines Cordelia, <Also, your face needs a bit of glamour.>

<I think I’m good.> Cordelia raises her hands to her chest. <The dress is flashy enough, and remember, I’m looking to detract attention.>

<You’re right…> Melandra sighs. <Maybe that dress is a bit much.>

Now that Cordelia was wearing the garment, she didn’t want to part with it. She gives Melandra a stern look, <I’m keeping the dress.>

<I think I’ll get Branton to keep an eye on the area—just in case there are stragglers.> Melandra slides in before she rests her hand on the door handle. <Before you ask, he’s not going to be a hindrance. Water under the bridge, as he told me before. He knows you’re off limits.>

<Glad to hear it.> Cordelia grits her teeth as she turns around.

<One last thing sweetie, be open to what your heart wants, alright? Duty isn’t _everything. > _

Except that it was…It always was. Countless lives depended on her.

No. Melandra’s right.

Tonight would be about one thing; reuniting with the one she loves.

 

<Deely,> Radjerd takes Cordelia’s arm, stopping as the moonlight hits her dress. He lowers the hood of her cape, stroking her neatly tied braid. <You look—wow—I mean— _wow! > _

<Thank you.> She arches her shoulders back, unsure why she’s flustered at his astonishment. He’s acting like an excitable schoolboy. It’s only when he steps back that she notices the finely decorated vest he wears, the glimmer matching her skirts. His black trousers remind her of the performance rehearsal. Did Melandra give him this vest to match— _of course she did!_ Cordelia shakes her head. She strokes his face; he’s cleanly shaven.

<I like you this way,> Cordelia teases. <You look dignified.>

<Glad you approve. I got quite the do-over from Alteus’s wife. I had to be at top form to court someone of your status.>

<Court?> Her blush grows deeper, so does her excitement.

<Yes, as I fully intend to. I wish to do things properly, and…maybe….> It’s the first time she sees his colour change. He couldn’t be blushing—not Radjerd. He’s so cheeky that she thought him incapable! <I know you’re a princess. I have no money, or title.> He stops himself prematurely. <What I do have, is my word. And, if you’re to trust it, you need to get to know me. Who I am, what I’m about…why I’ve done things the way I did…>

<If it’s too hard to talk about, I understand if you’d want to keep it to yourself.> Cordelia asks.

<But I want to tell you.> He says sternly. <Like you, I’ve always had to keep my identity a secret, because of my father. He’s…a bad man, to put it lightly. Ma still hasn’t told me why that is, but I fear knowing what that is—since we’ll be looking for him.>

<Because of that, I finally have hope that I can save my kingdom. I promise you, I’ll make it worth everything you’ve sacrificed.> It’s more of a plea as she grabs both of his hands. <But I need to have a break from heavy thoughts. It might sound selfish, but it’s the only way I can focus. I want to have an excellent night with you, no matter what your name may be.>

His expression softens, <Ma will adore you.>

Butterflies take over her gut, <Even though I’m… _Weltish? > _

<She’d never care about that. Ma’s a woman with a loving heart. She’ll be thrilled that you’re well spoken.>

<Speaking of, so are you. More than you should be…why is that?>

<Ma poured her heart and soul into making sure I was educated—which—unfortunately, went to waste. I discovered that thievery was a quick way to make a buck, and  Freydis followed suit. Secondary school would have been too much for us to afford, and…> He pauses. <As you said, enough of the heavy stuff.> He leans her back, lifting her up before spinning her around, <I want to show you what a loving companion I can be.>

<Don’t be ridiculous!> Cordelia hotly admits, <There’s no need.>

<Oh, there _is._ > There’s a glint in his eyes. <You don’t believe I can be a worthy companion. I may not have the wealth, but I assure you that’s _all_ I lack.> He purrs against her collarbone. <Allow me to prove it to you, should you be willing, _princess. > _

Her face burns. It’s all she could ever ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great Easter weekend if you celebrate it!


	26. Chapter 26

The cabin’s furnishings are quaint with the exotic flair Cordelia’s been accustomed to. In the corner was a place to prepare food, while the centrepiece was the wide-spanning mattress with silk red covers. It reminds her of The Locke Manor, a place she would rather soon forget.

In the arms of the thief Cordelia once detested, he leans mere inches from her lips. A dopey grin plasters over his face as he eases her onto the bed, unfastening his shirt as if the fabric alone would burn him. What about her dress?! What of those hands of his accidentally rip it—Cordelia couldn’t face Melandra’s scorn.

The thief’s hand slides up her smooth thigh. <I’ve been waiting for this,> he muses. His eyes widen when there’s nothing stopping him from entry. <Where are your undergarments?!> Cordelia swears she sees a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

<I was told a chemise was enough—was I mislead?>

<It is, but I never expected _you_ to wear one.> Cordelia didn’t mind. A chemise was much easier to deal with than the pantaloons from their earlier excursion—St. Antillans liked to dress light underneath their clothes—and it’s obvious as to why. His devilish grin returns. Despite his actions, she didn’t expect the contact so soon.

He arches a brow, waiting for Cordelia to give him permission. After a simple nod, he caresses the folds within her. Her toes curl up as she arches her back; the dress becoming a hindrance with each breath. With a motion of his finger, she gasps.

<Found it.> Radjerd purrs, enjoying the sight of her squirm. _The friction’s delightful!_ She bites her lip, her chest flutters as his hot lips caress her knee. She shudders when his teeth mildly graze her skin—she bargains in her mind; _this man can do anything to her—except stop!_ Breaking from the immersion, his other hand tucks the poof of her dress underneath her rear, arching her hips upward. He spreads her thighs apart. She can _feel_ his hot stare—why did he have to do that?

This was _embarrassing!_

He speaks in a tone she can’t understand as he lowers his head past her knees. The flicks of his tongue are magical—she grits her teeth as an overwhelming sensation numbs her brain—not yet! She wants to enjoy this. She clamps her thighs around his head as a warning. His laugh vibrates against her as he savours her taste. He’s enjoying every minute of this.

Ignoring her prior warning, he teases her with gentle strokes. She clenches her teeth together as a weak attempt to prevent it, but one final stroke sends her over her peak—slamming her head back against the pillow as she lets out an ungodly moan.

<I savour kissing you here.> He cheekily says as he raises his head.

<Shut up!> Cordelia warns breathlessly. She can barely focus; still caught up in the high.

He ignores her words, placing a hand on his belt buckle. He stares at her with eager eyes; <May I?>

<I don’t see why not.> She looks to the side, excitement swirls in her gut. She’s _shameless._

He hikes up her skirt further before unfastening his belt with one hand. It thuds to the floor, his trousers soon follow. Taking great care, he positions himself within her, a sharp pressure elicits a squeak from her lips. It soon passes as she enjoys his fullness. The friction passing between them is intoxicating, she could barely breathe. How did it get better with each thrust? Her heart flutters; her vision turns rosy. This man; _god, this man._ Love wasn’t even what she could describe, it’s much more than that. _Way more._

The dress, however, had to go.

<Stop—I need to get rid of this gown.>

<Yes, I agree. I want to see _all_ of you—this time, by your own volition.> He refers to the _nectar_ she drank before. He stands up, the glint of the candle highlighting his sculpted form as he removes his shirt. He glides his mouth along her neck as he unfastens the ties around the bodice; the dress clumps around her ankles. He slides the chemise over her shoulders, Cordelia noticing his face light up in wonderment. He’s acting like he’s never seen her exposed before.

<How did I end up so lucky?> His purr is deep when he leads her to the bed, but she doesn’t follow.

<Lie down. I-I want to be the one who—> She can barely bring herself to say it.

<Gladly,> He motions for her to come, positioning himself appropriately as Cordelia carefully moves her hips—feeling him stiffen when she can't go any farther. _Wow._

His hands rest on her hips as she swivels them, her braid sticks to her back. Hearing his deep grunts heighten her excitement—for now, she’s in control. She leans in to kiss him, but he keeps her away with one hand, soon cupping her soft breast with his palm.

She was _that_ good, hmm? Cordelia laughs to herself—this pleases her. Her throat growls with satisfaction as she clenches herself around him. Her hair tickles her back as she rotates her hips. No, now she wants to kiss him. She removes his hands from her chest as she leans in. He doesn’t waver, allowing Cordelia to take over. She feels herself reach her peak for the second time, he as well as he arches back, throwing himself in a frenzy of moans as he clings to her. She welcomes all of him; his convulsions send her spiralling once again.

Both take a moment to breathe.

<I don’t want to let you leave this bed—ever.> He whispers. <If I had my own way, we’d buy a little cottage like this one—we can live in peace away from others, while you tend to our little flower garden.>

<What?> Cordelia lifts her head; this was coming out of nowhere.

<Oh, don’t mind me. I daydream while I work.>

<You…daydream about us?>

<Why are you surprised?> Radjerd chuckles.

<I didn’t think you did.> She replies; what a silly thing to admit! It was natural that he would—, especially with his confession. Should she…play along with his daydream? _It could be fun._

<I’d raise white lilies if I could,> A laugh escapes her lips. <I’ve never had a green thumb.>

<You’d learn. It’ll give you something to do while I hunt.>  

Cordelia wrinkles her nose, <I won’t eat barbaric dishes.>

<You’d develop a taste for it. You’d need your energy—after all, I’d be interested in more of these activities.>

At first, Cordelia flushes, but she brings reason to the idea. <Not that it doesn’t sound tempting, but I’m not interested in corralling your bastards.>

 _< Wow…>_ is all Radjerd can say.

<Well, we’re pushing it as is.> Cordelia whispers with a bit of apprehension. <I’ll ask Freydis for that blackworm root before the next time…>

<I wouldn’t worry, Deely.>

<Easy for you to say,> she narrows her eyes.

<I wouldn’t leave you if that’s your concern. I want a family.>

<Well I don’t!> She doesn’t mean to yell. <Children are despicable!>

He eyes her curiously. <Your legacy would die if you had no successors, would it not?>

<I’d be a terrible mother.> She didn’t need to remind herself as of why—Cordelia did her best to put it out of her mind. <I’ve got no patience with children.>

Radjerd smiles as he leans her head on his chest, <If it should happen, I wouldn’t abandon you,  is all I meant by my words. If we have no children, I’d be just as happy.>

_Oh…wow, he really meant that._

Radjerd continues, <I’m also not surprised. You’ve laughed in my face when I said I wanted to marry you.>

<Because it was a ridiculous notion. We hardly know each other!>

Radjerd leans up, gesturing for Cordelia to do the same. <I can resolve that instantly; I love building. If I could build homes for the rest of my life, I would. I’ve been nimble with my hands for as long as I can recall. Repairing the Tavern was something that brought me immeasurable satisfaction. Especially when you weren’t accepting visitors.>

Cordelia frowns at the reminder. <I…was in a dark place. It wasn’t anything against you, Freydis, or anyone else.>

<I didn’t mean to remind you of that painful memory. Come, tell me something about you—surely you must have a couple of hobbies.>

< _Dancing._ > She says dreamily. The dance Radjerd had surprised her within the gardens comes to mind. Maybe one day,  her thoughts would become reality.

<Now, that’s something we can base a marriage around.> He grins from ear to ear. <I too like to dance.>

<I wish you’d stop teasing me. You and I can’t get married. As much as I’d love to run away and live in one of your cabin fantasies, I have a responsibility to my people. I can’t abandon them, or my family…>

<I know that.> His deep breath scares her. <It means I’d have to find a way to stay with you.>

Cordelia’s heart leaps from her chest, but she stays calm. <That would be a complicated life…you have no social standing.>

<I don’t, but, being apart would require much more sacrifice—I’m not making light of this, Deely. I said that I love you, and I mean it.>

It’s unexpected, but tears stream down her face as her throat constricts. She didn’t have to say goodbye.

<I’ll have to find a way to have your hand. Dammit, I don’t care if it takes me my entire life.>

Radjerd may as well have proposed. If it was a proposal, she would have definitely said yes.

 

Cordelia wakes up with a jolt, the sun’s rays peek through the curtains. She doesn’t know why she’s panicking; she should enjoy this moment. It’s the apprehensiveness in her stomach that throws her off. Why is she nervous? Her heart’s full with adoration as she eases herself up with one arm, admiring his relaxed face. His dark locks frame his face, a picture to behold. A sheepish grin takes over her lips; how long had she been staring?

Cordelia gently places her palm on his cheek, stroking his sideburns with her thumb. Her heart flutters as he grins, shifting in place as his eyes peek open. They’re so brilliantly violet.

<Guess who~> She whispers playfully in his ear.

<Good morning, _my Deely_. > He’s dopy-eyed as he cups the back of her hand with his own. She leans in to give him a gentle peck. She expects him to pull in for a heated kiss, surprised when he doesn’t. He grins, staring at her eyes and moves his gaze to scan her face. He eases into the mattress, closing his eyes briefly before speaking again. <Somehow, the sun’s glow makes you even more beautiful than I remember.>

Cordelia rolls her eyes, but she lets the comment slide.

<Today’s the day we’re heading to your mother’s.> She says it as a matter of fact.

<Indeed.> He replies simply. <I am looking forward to seeing her, yet I can’t help but fear what she might think when she discovers who you really are.>

<Must we tell her?>

<Yes, if we want to know where my father resides.> Radjerd frowns.

<…I wish we didn’t need his help, for your sake.>

Radjerd grabs Cordelia’s hand and kisses it. <I don’t care if he had the head of one thousand snakes.>

Cordelia laughs sarcastically, <That’s pushing it, but I appreciate the gesture. I’m…relieved to have you on my side.>

<Alteus and Melandra assured me they’d take care of _Deely_ in our absence.>

<…You better not be talking about the cat or I swear!>

<Her name is Deely, you can’t change my mind,> Radjerd laughs as Cordelia takes a swipe at him. <You’re proving to share similarities to her each day.>

<I do _not_ have anything in common with that cat! _> _ She growls back.

Radjerd eases out of bed and slips on his undergarments, followed by his trousers. <I should prepare myself—Leander wanted to speak to me before we depart. I’ll put the key on the table; take your time to get ready. We leave when it’s best for you.>

<I shouldn’t need too much time.> Cordelia ponders how she’s going to keep herself covert in the daylight. The dress was like a damn prism. <I’ll see you inside?>

<You will,> He leans in for a kiss before departing.

How could she feel nervous, yet elated at the same time? More importantly, how could she make herself invisible?

 

The soles of Cordelia’s feet screamed with agony as they approached a small town. A clay exterior lined the structures of the buildings, probably to keep the heat from penetrating the walls. To no one’s surprise, Leander’s route kept all eyes off of the travellers, but it was undeniably hotter. Radjerd and Freydis had no problems, but Cordelia and Leander were sweltering—even in the light blue day-dress she was given. It didn’t help that both of them dressed in layers. How was Fenli so resilient to the heat?

<Why didn’t we use your magic? We could have made it to the grounds unseen!>

<It’s too hot for me to concentrate.> Fenli huffs at the princess. <If you’ll forgive my rudeness.>

Cordelia rolls her eyes but is soon distracted by a smooth-barked tree. She runs toward it, hiding in the shade. The air was still sticky, but oh _boy_ did the shade feel good. Her skin could finally breathe! She removes the hood of her cloak, leaning her head against the bark of the tree.

She sees the group conversing, as Freydis appears to be searching for someone. They never got confirmation that his mother received the letter, but Radjerd was confident she resided here.

She prays that he’s right.

Freydis nods her head in Cordelia’s direction, hinting for the princess to follow. Sighing, she does as Freydis instructs, throwing the hood over her face to conceal her identity. They must be going to her lodgings. Cordelia does her best to catch up, but she knows she won’t be left behind.

Radjerd wouldn’t allow that.

Together, the group travels down the sandy road, passing a few residents. None seem too bothered by their arrival, to Cordelia’s luck. They keep going until they reach a house at the end of the road, the walls lined with what seems to be dried out vines.

A tall woman with long black hair opens the door, Cordelia noticing the white strands littered throughout. It’s so straight and _shiny!_ Her soft brown eyes light up when she sees the man beside Cordelia.

< _Radjerd?! > _A smile of glee emanates through the woman as she charges forward, tackling Radjerd as he chuckles of embarrassment. Freydis isn’t spared, as she’s dragged into the embrace. <My babies are home!>

Cordelia steps back, giving them room to reconnect. She doesn’t want to spoil the moment.

The woman chats for a bit before she notes the other three. Curiously, she stares at Leander and Fenli—making a vocal connection that they were related. Once her brown eyes settled on Cordelia, she removed her hood. She stiffens, fearing the worst.  

< _That hair! I can’t get over how blonde it is—it’s magical! > _She steps back, beaming once again. <You’re positively glowing!>

Cordelia pulls a face. <I don’t deserve your praise, really!>

<Oh—I don’t know why it occurred to me that we couldn’t speak to one another—you’re _obviously_ Weltish!>

She didn’t recognize her as the Princess…Thank god.  

<My name is Leanna,> She sticks out her hand to Cordelia.

<Deely.> She returns the handshake.

<Why are you travelling with my son? You could do so much better…> Leanna smirks, side-eyeing her son. Cordelia was _not_ expecting that kind of response.

Freydis lets out a hearty chuckle, <You’re right about that.>

<Hey!> Radjerd frowns deeply.

<What?> She spits back, <All I want for you is a normal life, and you keep fucking it up for yourself, not paying attention to those who are good to you—I’ve been wondering about you for _months,_ and you never write!> 

<Not here, Ma.> He gruffly mumbles. <I don’t want the neighbourhood sticking their nose in where it doesn’t belong.>

<No worry there, boy. They know you hardly write—except when it’s to tell me you need my help. It’s _fine. > _

Cordelia tries not to laugh—seeing him berated like this was quite amusing.

This was going to be one hell of a visit.


	27. Chapter 27

<Apologies that my house is a mess. I wasn’t expecting you’d all be here so soon.> A soft laugh escapes Leanna’s lips as she bows her head. She folds a stray sheet and puts it on the end table as Freydis goes to help her organize. She notes a slight disturbance on Radjerd’s face, but she disregards it as she takes a seat on the low-rise couch. It’s uncomfortable, but she minds her manners. Feeling a shift in the weight, she turns her head to see that Fenli has joined her. The redhead’s shifty hazel eyes imply her nerves are on edge…why?

<Freydis, can you get everyone a cool drink?> Cordelia hears Leanna ask. Freydis complies, heading off to the kitchen, Fenli looking slightly less nerved than she did before. Cordelia notes that Radjerd and Leander are to the doorway, distracting his mother from the girls—which meant she could ask Fenli what’s wrong. Should she? They weren’t friends, but that didn’t mean Cordelia wasn’t worried about the girl. She did stretch her neck out to protect the princess; something Cordelia would never forget.

Luckily, Fenli speaks. <Princess…do you find it hot here?>

<Very. The house is a lot _cooler_ than the outside.>

<Leander says it's because the exterior is made from clay.> She fidgets in place. This was highly unusual for the usually composed girl. <It’s a good thing, right? The heat here is impeccably thick.>

Against her better judgement, Cordelia asks, <Are you…alright?>

<I’m fine?—I mean, I’m fine. Please, Princess, don’t worry about me. It’s just the heat.>

Cordelia frowns deeply. <I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier; it’s just this whole mess is got me fuddled up. I can’t imagine what it’s doing to you, and I’ve acted so harshly earlier—>

Fenli raises a brow, <Pay no mind, we were all out of our element—I probably wasn’t the most forgiving either.>

<No, you’ve been wonderful. I know I don’t say that often but you should know that.> Cordelia smiles softly at the shorter girl.

<That’s surprisingly—thoughtful—coming from you, that is. I mean, it’s kind. Thank you— _I’m sorry. > _Fenli’s cheeks almost match the redness of her hair.

<It’s fine.> Cordelia says calmly. <I understand that I might have been frustrating. I apologize if this is coming later than it should have, but I’m thankful for your help, Fenli. Really.>

<…It’s Freydis.> She coughs out, holding her hands close together. <This is the first time I met any family of hers.> Fenli’s not wrong, Radjerd had said multiple times that his mother had thought of Freydis as a second daughter. So Fenli knew that too—interesting.

<I understand that feeling.> Cordelia blushes slightly. <Even if it’s wrong to.> Cordelia lets out a weak laugh.

<Oh— _OH!_ Of course, you…would know how I feel.>

Cordelia raises a high brow. <How I feel?>

<With the Antillan fellow. For a lowborn, he’s rather gallant. I can see the attraction.>

Cordelia freezes as her toes curl, <I-I…yeah, he’s good.>

Fenli smiles, <For what it’s worth, the two of you are well suited. I’ll do my best to vouch for him when things return to normal. Which they will, because we’ll make sure that they do.>

<I feel that we’re changing the subject a bit too quickly…> Cordelia whispers in singsong, partially to get the attention off of Fenli’s conclusion.

<I’m not exactly the most social. Dancing was fun, but besides that, I never put myself out there like that before. Freydis was impressed, _really_ impressed. I don’t know if I can measure up to her expectations. She’s so cool, and I’m…not.> Her eyes mist over as she speaks. <I don’t mean to dump this on you all of a sudden, but you did ask…>

Oh, _Freydis_ is the problem? Cordelia considers the two interacting—she knows what Freydis can be like. Heck, Cordelia had kissed Freydis—twice, technically if she counted the poison. <Are you interested in her?>

<I-I-I…well!>

That’s an obvious yes.

<…I get it, she’s rather _appealing. > _Cordelia’s reminded of the brief moments she’s shared with the woman. <And confusing at best.>

<You think so?>

<I do, _yeah._ You’re nervous because you’re meeting her mother.>

<I don’t want her to think ill of me because I’m Weltish. If she does, Freydis might change her mind about me.>

<Freydis is stubborn. Nothing like that will happen. If she has her sights set on you, I don’t think anything can change her mind. For better, or _worse. > _Cordelia instinctively coughs, which catches Leanna’s attention.

<Are you alright, sweetie? Drinks are on their way soon, unless Frey got lost in the kitchen.> She presses a finger to her lip, appearing to be unsure. <Or, maybe I should check in on her.> Leanna walks into the kitchen as both Radjerd and Leander approach.

<I apologize for her behaviour—she’s just not used to seeing me like this.> Radjerd chuckles, <Seeing me with a woman who isn’t Freydis, that is.>

<I don’t see the big deal of it all. No offence to my sister, or the _princess,_ but I think the idea of courtship is ridiculous.>

<Where the hell’s that coming from?> Fenli’s defensive.  

<I think the kid’s in a bad mood because of the heat. Can’t blame the Weltish, all of your skin is so fair that you’d all burn in a matter of moments if left out in the sun for too long.> Radjerd chuckles lightheartedly.

<I resent that comment.> The teen folds his arms and huffs, <I did quite well with the heat.>

<Then you have no reason to be snippy, do you?> Fenli shakes her head as her eyes note the return of both Leanna and Freydis. They return with a tray of stained-glass cups, handing one to each guest. Freydis takes a seat next to Fenli, slyly winking at the redhead. Cordelia can’t help but smile. The two of them are cute. Leanna sits on the other couch, encouraging Radjerd to sit next to her. She rubs her hand on his knee as she stares at him with adoration.  

<I’m so happy you’re home. I still can’t believe it.> She muses.

<Didn’t you get my letter?>

<I did…this morning.> Leanna’s eyes look around the room, contemplating what she might say next. <You said you wanted to talk to me about something—considering the entourage you brought I can only guess that it’s serious.>  

<Well, Ma, it’s about…> Radjerd’s voice breaks as he stares at his mother. <Listen, I need help finding my father.>

Her warm eyes cool immediately as she squints in disapproval.

<Ma?>

<You don’t even tell me what’s going on in your life—or how you ended up with three Weltish nobles. Instead, you wish to talk about _him. > _She tenses, her posture stiffening with each breath. <Here I was imagining that you were moving up in the world, making new friends who would be a good influence on you—and you want to waste your time _finding_ a man who isn’t worth his salt…> Emotion coursed through her words. <He’s a selfish man, Radjerd. Leave him in the past, where he _belongs. > _

Freydis is the one to break the tension,  <Leanna, if I may…please, we need o know where he could be. It’s for an important reason.>

<And what could be so important that you need _his_ help?> Her voice drips with disdain.   

<We wouldn’t be asking unless it was serious. I know how awful he is, and he should have never left your family but we need his help. We need his curse.>

<What—no—absolutely not! I told the two of you to abandon the thought of magic. It’s dangerous—and it _kills. > _

<That’s…kind of why we need it.> Freydis tenses her shoulders. <Radjerd, you should be the one to say this.>

<Ma, I lost my powers.> His posture sinks.

<That’s a blessing!> Leanna cups his face with her hands, relief in her tired eyes.

<It’s not. A Galatean stole my powers from me, leaving me defenceless against the Delteans.>

Leanna freezes, <Radjerd, I told you never _ever EVER! > _

<It was for an undercover mission. He did it to save Princess Cordelia, as did I. The Queen instructed me to get in with them and learn what they were planning from the inside. While there, they captured Radjerd and Leander—bringing them both into their ranks. I told Radjerd to play along, and he’d get to the palace. While we were there, however…things didn’t go so well.>

Cordelia expects Freydis to add in her piece, but she remains quiet.

<…how did you get involved with the princess?> She narrows her eyes at him. <Last I heard you wrote to tell me that you were planning something grand—something that would pull us out of poverty, or so you claimed.>

Radjerd smiles tightly, <I may have been _commissioned_ to kill the Princess of Wellspring.>

Leanna’s dizzy.

<Radjerd, you idiot—why would you tell her that!> Freydis shakes her head with frustration. <Leanna, don’t worry. As you heard, he had a change of heart and decided to save the princess instead. In fact…she’s right here.>

Leanna’s mute as her brown eyes vibrate in shock. This was it…

<I’m Princess Cordelia. I’m very sorry we had to meet like this.>

The woman’s still frozen. It’s better if Cordelia continues talking. It may help put the woman at ease.

<Radjerd has been nothing but accommodating…mostly. He and everyone here helped me escape the palace, and we’ve been in hiding ever since. I assure you, no harm will come to your son, Freydis, or anyone here.>

<I-I heard that the Princess of Wellspring went missing, but I thought she would be found dead. I…would have never imagined that she’d be standing right in front of me. The Delteans—they killed King Ryne.>

<I know…> Cordelia says in a whisper as she angles her face out of sight. <He didn’t deserve to die that way. I’m incredibly sorry for the loss of St. Antilla. He wasn’t a bad man—he was gracious to the end.>

His mother gives Cordelia a lost look.

<I was there when he died. He protected me from Edward, the awful man who slew him in the end.> His warm limp body flashes before her eyes, it’s as if she can feel the pressure on her shoulder—the moisture of his blood soaking through her dress. She stays strong as she speaks, <We need Radjerd’s ability to take them down and free our kingdom. In exchange, I’ll do what I can to grant him a title worth presenting. It’ll help your entire family.>

<Your Majesty, my son’s life isn’t to be bartered with. I’m deeply sorry that you had to go through that horrid event, bless King Ryne’s soul, but Radjerd and Freydis are all I have left. I-I can’t send them off to die.> Her eyes fill with tears. <If Radjerd doesn’t have his powers anymore, it should be a sign that all of you should stay away.>

<I can’t do that. My parents are trapped in that awful place—they could die at any moment. I’m not willing to risk their lives.>

<As I’m not willing to risk my children’s.> She nods curtly.

Cordelia steps back. Leanna’s right. It had to be either Radjerd or Freydis to convince her. It doesn’t take long before Radjerd stands up.

<Ma,> He takes Cordelia’s hand, <I love this woman. Even if you refuse to help, I’ll still be going. I promised Princess Cordelia her kingdom back, and I don’t back out on my promises.> Cordelia’s beet red from the proclamation. This was _not_ where she wanted to go with this.

Leanna gives her son a heated look—one Cordelia knew well from her own mother. <Don’t mess with me!>  

Freydis belts out a laugh, <Yeah, hard to believe he actually bagged a princess, am I right— _or am I right? > _

<I do, and I intend to marry her however I can.>

Both Leander and Fenli share the same horrified gaze.

Cordelia squeaks, her heart leaps into her throat. <You do?!>

<Told ya, _Deely. > _Freydis winks as she leans back. <This boy’s got a heart as soft as his ol’ ma’s. And now he’s planning on becoming a King…you should be proud.> Freydis laughs.

<Yes, I do! I thought that was obvious.> Radjerd grunts as he turns to his mother. <So what will it be? I risk my life with the help of my father, or I risk my life defenceless?>

Leanna grits her teeth, spitting as she says, <This—this is a lot to take in! It’s one thing if you love someone, but the _Princess of Wellspring? > _

<It’s alright. I can appreciate that this sounds bizarre because it is. If there’s a chance we can stop both Gale and the Delteans using this curse _,_ as it’s so called, we have to try. My father tells me I might have the same stasis ability my mother has. If it comes down to it—I’ll use it to spare his life.> God, why is she promising a thing like that? Did she assume her own mother was to die?

<The power of stasis?>

<It’s what’s keeping the palace protected—Queen Merise has frozen everyone in time.> Leander clears his throat.

<I see…and finding your father can _help? > _There’s a sinking disappointment to her voice.

<It will.>

<…I’ll find his last letter. But don’t think I’m giving it to you just yet. You need to prove to me that you’re all going to make it out alive.>  

Cordelia can’t believe this—nerves swirl in her gut.

They’re that much closer to saving Wellspring!


	28. Chapter 28

<What if you fail?> Leanna’s arms are firmly crossed. She narrows her brown eyes on her son, who doesn’t seem to budge an inch. In her hand is the letter, crumpled by her palm. <I need to know what plans you have to defend yourselves—nothing is foolproof, especially magic.>

<Do you think I’d let us die? I’d never ask for my father’s help if I had that intention.> Radjerd mutters under his breath, displeased with his mother’s response.  

<You’ve always leapt before you looked. It’s going to get you killed one of these days.>

<It hasn’t yet—has it?> Radjerd lifts a brow. He studies his mother’s tight lips as her face relaxes into a sigh.

<No. But you’ve been lucky. Life doesn’t always favour the lucky.>

Cordelia listens to his mother’s words. She’s right—they couldn’t storm into the palace at random. She knows Radjerd, Fenli and Leander have before, but who was to say what the condition of the palace was. Her father was still alive, or at least she _thinks_ he is.  They had to stay vigilant.  

<My _luck_ has provided for this family.> Radjerd coolly says, striking his mother off guard. Cordelia instinctively winces, expecting a blow-out between mother and son.

<You’re right—your trifles did get us into a favourable home. However, I would trade it all for peace of mind. You don’t know what it’s like to wonder if your son is going to make it out alive _this time_. I just wish you could settle, work for Alteus. He’s a nice man, surely, he’ll give you work. >

<He already has—and we long exhausted his generosity. Ma, if we can save the Kingdom of Wellspring, don’t you think we should do it? The Princess sits right here before you—do you have the courage to tell her that saving Wellspring isn’t more important than the lives of a few commoners?>

With a hint of sadness in her eyes, she turns to Cordelia. <Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but I won’t play the better person here—I don’t want my son to perish. I don’t care what’s at stake.> Regret fuels her stare. <It’s my truth. I won’t do you a disservice and lie to your face.>

It’s hard to hear, but Cordelia can’t fault the woman for being paranoid. But, it was worth saving her kingdom. Tons of lives were at stake—god knows what would happen if the Delteans took over—and what would happen to her parents if that happened. They were worth saving—no matter the cost. Cordelia’s lucky his mother didn’t blame her for King Ryne’s death. On top of that, she’s lucky that St. Antilla and Wellspring weren’t at war—god— _not now._ She takes a deep breath, attempting to ground herself. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

<Ma, you’re stressing her out.> Radjerd interjects. <She doesn’t need you against her.>

<And I don’t need my son to die.>

<He won’t.> Cordelia says with a straight face. <I will _ensure_ everyone will survive.>

<Your Majesty, if I may…you can’t promise me that. If you were capable on your own, you wouldn’t be here right now, convincing my son to find his estranged father. But…I suppose there’s no way you can prove to me that you’ll survive until you do—that is.> She grunts in displeasure before thrusting her arm forward. <Take this letter. Read it carefully, and study it well.>

Radjerd grabs it from his mother’s hand, taking the letter out of the envelope. Cordelia expects hesitation, but none is had. He opens the letter, his violet eyes scan from left to right. His expression doesn’t change. Freydis peeks over the gap between her and Radjerd, curious to see what it says. He bats her away.

<He’s deep in The Sands, near the Oasis Bridge. But…that place is destitute. Why is he there?>

<I don’t know, and he still might not be. However, I feel he would have written to me if that’s the case.>

<…I can see that. The bastard thinks that I’ll visit him anytime after what he’s done. Has another thing coming…If I didn’t need his help, I’d kill him.>

Seeing Radjerd’s gruff nature wasn’t new, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. It’s terrible, but seeing him confident made her feel much better. She’s not sure she can handle any more tension. Cordelia had to set things right—she had to reassure Leanna.

<Thank you so much for letting me into your home. I know my words don't mean anything right now, but for the first time in my life, I’m grateful. I've never been surrounded by people that cared so much. Get everything that's happened, it shows me that I matter. that my Kingdom actually matters. If I wasn't kidnapped, I don't know what would have happened to me. If any of this would have happened, I might have died. I was such a rotten brat back then, the best thing that your son has ever done was kidnap me, as horrible as that is to say. My kingdom is worth saving, and if we can save it, I will make your son a king.>

God, no she couldn’t! Why did she say that?! What of the status of the High Council—if they were even still alive? They would overrule it immediately, but surely if she was able to go ahead and save everybody, she could succeed. Cordelia looks around noticing everyone's mouth agape. Of course, they would—in her own way, she had just proposed.

<You can't honestly expect me to believe that you're going to put my son on the throne just like that. He's St. Antillan and can barely speak a word of Weltish!>

Cordelia frowns, <Your son just said he wants to marry me. What do you think that’ll entail?> This conversation was heading south, fast.  

<Yes, however, we have different customs here. Not to offend, but I don't trust you... No, it's not that I don't trust you, it's your family. Even if you do save them, can you really give my son what he deserves?>

<Deely, Ma. If I may interject.> Radjerd stands up, clearing his throat. <If we can pay attention to what has just happened here, the Princess of Wellspring has just proposed to me. Whether she can give me a kingdom or not, is not required. I wouldn't have it any other way.> He scoops Cordelia into a hug, the letter still grasped in his hand.

Neither sees Freydis’s attempt to yank it out of his hands.

<Not to break up the moment, but we should focus on the matter at hand. Finding this man’s location is paramount to our success. Once we take back Wellspring, we can focus on any marriages that may or may not happen. Forgive me for being so blunt, princess, but we don't have a lot of time.>

Leander's right. They needed to focus.

 

The stars sprinkled across the horizon, Cordelia holds her cloak close to her shoulders to prevent a chill. The day had whirled by them, with preparation for their departure eight hours away. She should be asleep, but she’s not so fortunate. Leanna had been gracious in giving Cordelia her bed, despite constant protests—she was taking her son to fight in a war that they might not survive in—there was no need for her to give up her sleeping quarters as well. Fenli, Freydis and Leanna slept in the living area, while Radjerd and Leander took to the floor—she wonders how the teen will fare after a night’s rest—he was always hard to please. No. She wouldn’t think of Leander as the bratty know-it-all, he’s been loyal to her. Cordelia shakes her head, attempting to cleanse her old perceptions.  She leans against the clay wall, feeling a pang of hunger in her gut. She had eaten a lot at dinnertime—delighting in a pasta dish she never tried before—but she was soon hungry again. Maybe her nerves were depleting her energy.

Or, maybe it was that she proclaimed that she’d make Radjerd her King. She groans inwardly, ashamed at herself for being so naïve. She couldn’t just make a pauper off the street a man fit to marry—even if she wanted to. But the delight on his face when she said it—it warms her heart. She wouldn’t trade that look for anything.

Cordelia picks up on footsteps; crap, she wasn’t quiet enough. She angles her head to see who’s joined her, soft violet eyes calm her nerves immediately.

<Be glad Ma’s a heavy sleeper. She’d scold us both if she knew.> He whispers.

<I didn’t mean to wake you, I needed to step outside for a minute. Sleep wouldn’t come to me.>

<Same, but if I had you in my arms it’d be a swift slumber.> His chuckle is deep, stirring pleasant twinges inside her.

<Seriously?> She scoffs.

<There’s no way you can deny your feelings now, Deely. You said you’d make me your King.> He chuckles, believing it to be a joke.

<It’s the only way I can—we can— _marry. > _

<Listen, I don’t care how it’s done, or how much we have at the end of the day. I said it before—>

<But I don’t want that life for you. You’re risking your life, and your sanity to save my kingdom. You deserve a spot beside me, not beneath me.>

<I have no interest in ruling Wellspring.> Radjerd says flatly. <I appreciate the sentiment but I don’t need a crown. All I want is a cabin where I can take my bride—> He leans in to kiss her, Cordelia gently pulls back. <What’s wrong?>

<I’m serious. I know our story is ludicrous, but if we can save the kingdom, they’re not going to grant us allowances just because we did our due diligence. That’s not how monarchies work. If…I can save my mother, maybe I can convince her to grant you lordship under the circumstance, and then you could start knight training. As you know, my father is a knight and that’s how he was able to marry my mother. Maybe it could be the same with you.>

<Deely, I’m not thinking about that right now. As long as we lie together at night—>

<But I am! I can’t escape my fate, and I won’t stand for my people scorning you!> Radjerd’s lips part—his eyes widening as he raises his brow. Did she strike a nerve? <What I meant by that is, I can’t stand the thought of people belittling you—I’d throw them all in the dungeons.>

He says nothing, pulling her into a strong hug. His warmth feels _different_ somehow. She looks up at him, catching how vibrant the colour in his eyes are. They’re truly stunning.

Cordelia’s cheeks burn, <I’m not lying. I meant every word I said.>

<I know. I made the right choice, _Cordelia._ It goes without saying, but I’ll die for you—>

<You’ll do no such thing. Ever.> Cordelia stops him. Her full name sounds foreign coming from his lips. <You’re not allowed to die.>

A hearty chuckle leaves his throat, <Is that so? I can recall the time when you sang a different tune.>

<And so did you.> She narrows her brows fiercely. <In fact, you made crude jokes about my mouth.>

<Just because you were intolerable didn’t mean I didn’t stir your loins—>

She smacks him on the arm as he lets out a goofy grin.

<Now is _hardly_ the time! >

<It wasn’t a joke.> The amusement falls from his face as quick as it appears. <I don’t mean to be a pain. If I’m to be honest, I don’t want to see my father. He’s a despicable man who left his wife and young son without anything to live off of. I had daydreams about killing him myself. Maybe I will, after all is said and done.>

<I know I’m not one to talk, but maybe he’s a different man? Its been years since the two of you spoke—maybe things will be different.>

<I didn’t expect such optimism coming from you—especially about parents. I remember what you said about your mother.>

There’s a break in her voice, <I wish I didn’t. She was trying to protect me this entire time—I can’t help but wonder if, in a way, your father might be doing the same?>

<He abandoned us; I highly doubt that it was for selfless reasons. Ma still won’t tell me what happened.>

Cordelia didn’t mean to spike his nerves. She steers the subject to the task at hand. <…What did the letter say?>

Radjerd loosens his grip, leaning his back against the clay wall as Cordelia had done before. He sighs before saying,  <He wrote the letter a couple of years ago, stating that he’s written more than one. Either that’s a lie, or Ma had burned them. For whatever the reason, she kept this one. He said he’d be staying at the Oasis Bridge until he heard from me, but who is to say. I swore the man was dead.>

<Or that’s what he wanted others to believe.> Cordelia whispers.

<That’s all the letter said. He kept it short, just in case it fell in the wrong hands I presume.>

<He’s got enemies…?>

<As do I…there’s a reason I don’t like parading my name around the place, and it’s not just because of my own doings—I do share the same name as the man.>

Cordelia stiffens.

If the man had enemies, that meant the Delteans weren’t their only adversaries.

 _Crap._  


	29. Chapter 29

Leanna didn’t want to let them go. She could hardly contain her emotions the next morning as she flung her arms around her son and Freydis, refusing to part with them. She says nothing as silent tears fell down her face. Cordelia has to look away as her stomach drops; the harsh reminder that she may never hug her father again. Or, get the chance to rebuild what she has lost. She wouldn’t make her discomfort obvious—she didn’t want to take this moment away from them. Cordelia faces Fenli and Leander, both distracted with the sack of food and water Leanna packed for the group. Getting past Oasis Bridge would be half a day's trip on foot; her heels ached thinking about it.

<Your majesty, please,> Leanna gestures with her hand, welcoming Cordelia into her inner hugging circle. Cordelia isn’t comfortable with it but she doesn’t want to be rude. She steps forward, accepting the woman’s affection.  <I still can’t believe this—within a day I get a letter and see both my babies. I…don’t like that you’re all leaving so soon. Just remember, if it’s too much, there’s no shame in retreating. I don’t know your parents personally, but if they’re anything like me, they’d want your safety to be the top priority. It’s why you were sent away in the first place, to preserve your life…right?>

<It was.> Cordelia nods, keeping a brave face. Her throat wells up, but she maintains her composure. She has to stay strong. If she showed any signs of doubt to Leanna, this could turn into an argument.

She stares at her son, <If that happens, come back here. The two of you can live a life here with me in secret—you can’t spend your life with the one you love if both of you perish.>

Now she’s playing to Radjerd's sensibility.

<Ma, we've made our choice.> He says with a twinge of annoyance. <I told you this morning, I don’t need any more doubts.>

<You did. I'm sorry.> She shakes her head, focusing on Freydis. <Please look out for my clueless boy.>

Freydis chuckles, <Clueless ain’t the half of him.>

Radjerd grunts in disapproval as Leanna waves the siblings over, wishing them luck on their escapade. Cordelia sees the uncertainty spread across her face; to be completely honest, Cordelia shares similar doubts, but, she can’t promise to leave with Radjerd and the others if things became dire. Cordelia would, however, ensure he and the others were safe. They had paid her a great debt; that wouldn’t go unrewarded.

<I need you to promise me.> Leanna takes her worn hands and places them over Cordelia’s temples, leaning her head forward. <My son won’t leave without you; don’t try to play hero on your own.>

<Ma, please! She wouldn’t do that.>

Was the damn woman psychic?! Cordelia quickly fills her thoughts with mindless details in case she was a mind reader.

<I’m hoping not, but I need you to promise me, Your Majesty. Don’t do anything foolish.>

Cordelia quietly nods.

<Please, write to me when the nonsense with your _father_ is over. If he says anything stupid, remember, I know where he lives. I’ll thwart the bastard m’self.> She pauses before saying, <I didn’t spend my hard-earned coins on your education for nothing—I want you to live a fulfilled life.>

_< Ma!> _

<I’ve given the boy a sack of goodies to keep your energy up. You might want to end up carrying it so he doesn’t get tired.>

<I will.> Radjerd wraps his arms around his mother one last time. Cordelia notes the heavy frown on his face—he didn’t want to leave, did he?

 

Cordelia collapses to her knees, the sun's rays bearing down on her cloak. Her palms hit the warm grains of sand and dirt, scuffing them. This was _terrible._ Her stomach growls as her energy is zapped. The dry air was choking her! She sees two pairs legs in front, her body feeling lighter as she’s lifted back up on her feet.

<Careful now, sweetie.> Freydis whispers as she wraps an arm around Cordelia.

<I can carry you.> Radjerd follows up, his arms at the ready to lift her off of her feet.

<In this heat? You're mad.> Freydis protests, ,<you'll just bleed more heat onto her. Fenli, are you sure there isn’t anything you can do to off-set the temperature? Radjerd and I are fine, but the three of you don’t look so good.>

<…No, there’s nothing I can do.> Fenli sighs, her cheeks red from the warmth. <I think we need to make a stop. We’re all exhausted, we need to find shade—wherever we can.> She glances around, only two trees merely blocked the sun. <We can rest there for a bit.>

<I told you guys we should have travelled during the evening. The sun's going to be at its peak a few hours from now.>

<Leander, we don’t have much of a choice. Leanna didn’t have a carriage, and we couldn’t go into town and hire one. We don’t want the princess to get discovered.>

<Still.> His voice is short. <It’s foolish timing.>

<We don’t have time to wait!> Fenli grunts under her breath as she eyes the sack over Radjerd’s shoulder, <Do you mind if we have some refreshments? My brother is extremely crabby.> Leander pulls his face at the redhead. <He doesn’t seem to realize that we might not have much time left.>

<We’ll set up under that tree for now and take as long of a rest as we need. We won’t be much if use to anyone if the Weltish are exhausted, right Raddyboy?> Freydis chimes in.

Radjerd frowns at the nickname as the group make their way to the tree. He places the sack on the ground as he looks down, passing one flask to Cordelia, and the other two to Freydis and Fenli. He hands his own to Leander, who stares at it before drinking.

<Go for it, I’m fine.>

<Are you _sure? > _Leander eyes Radjerd suspiciously. <I don’t want to steal from you.>

<You’re not. I’ll be fine.> He grins. A sufficient answer; the teen takes a few big gulps.  

<You’re not getting dehydrated on my watch,> Freydis buts in and stuffs the opening of one of the flasks into his mouth. <Drink.> Cordelia watches as Radjerd submits to the dark-haired girl’s force, a satisfying smirk on her face. She revelled in taking control, didn’t she? <And before you start winging about my own water source, I’ll share a flask with Fenli.> She nudges her head in Fenli’s direction. A horrendous blush crosses Fenli’s cheeks when the two exchange glances.

It’s cute.

 “Princess, may I have a word?” Leander’s voice is prominent as he waves her over. Nerves trickle into her gut—he’s speaking in their native tongue. Why?

Cordelia moves to meet him, away from the group but still in the shade, “Yes?” 

“Oasis Bridge is a hostile place.”

“I know, we were warned before." 

Leander sighs, “I’ve saved my reservations for you privately—I know she told us that it was fine, but I can’t help but wonder if its some kind of set-up.”

“You think Radjerd’s mother is trying to have us killed?” Cordelia can’t believe she’s asking this. Leanna didn’t appear the malicious type, and this was Leander she was talking to.

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s hard to say.”  

“She’s not dangerous, just paranoid.”

“She could have altered the letter—”

“On what grounds? She’d never risk anything to endanger her son. That I can be assured of.”

Leander crosses his arms, hesitant. “I do believe that, but who is to say she won’t report that she found you?”

Cordelia gives him a dirty look. They better hope not.

“I sincerely mean no harm—I just can’t help but worry—nothing here in St. Antilla is sitting right with me.”

“Do you have proof, or is this pure speculation?”

“I worry because she would have a motive. I haven’t seen anything that would prove her to be disloyal, but at the same time I don’t believe she would hold any either—she thinks you’re going to get her son killed.” Leander was paranoid, but right in some regard. Cordelia didn’t get the impression that Leanna would impose harm, but she did need to be careful. “It’s my duty to keep you alive. I’m not strong like Radjerd or blessed like Fenli, but I am resourceful. My hunches never lead me astray.”

“I know you’re doing your duty. Thank you.”

“I hope I’m wrong.” Cordelia notices his eyes drift off to Radjerd. “He’s a good man.”

“I’m sure his mother is well-intentioned.”

“Yeah…” Leander looks away. “I hope so. I don’t want to see Radjerd get hurt.”

“The two of you travelled a fair bit together, hadn’t you? Before you showed up to the palace.”

“I attempted to rob him.” Leander laughs cheekily. “I’m fortunate that he didn’t cleave me in two.”

“You—are you sure?”

“I know, it’s not exactly in character, but there you have it. I don’t know what I was doing but I’m relieved he took me under his wing.” His eyes gleam. “He could have killed me.”

“For an assassin, he’s not very good at his job.” Cordelia jests. “I was supposed to be dead and brought to Edward himself.”

“I know.” His hollow words indicate that there are more details that she had left out. It’s not something she wishes to discuss at present. “But I’m glad you’re okay. If we’re to be frank, King Ryne’s death was horrific. I wasn’t expecting that kind of bloodshed.”

Cordelia tenses, her body stiffens with the reminder.

“Sorry, if I brought up unjust memories.”

“I know you didn’t mean harm.”

“Actually…I don’t believe that St. Antilla isn’t doing anything to combat their king’s death. It’s why I’m so jarred with Leanna.” Leander softly admits. “There’s no way a country would let something like that slide. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Then why keep it a secret from their populace? That doesn’t make much sense either.”

“That’s what I want to know.”

Cordelia crosses her arms, pondering his point. She didn’t want to admit it, but Leander’s got a solid point.  

 “I wanted to bring that into your awareness, Princess. I don’t mean to throw you off, but as our future leader, you must be aware of such things. Ideally, that’s what an advisor is for, but when this is all said and done—you’ll need someone to help you govern things.”

“You’re saying that as if everyone will be dead…”

“It’s a possibility we need to consider.” Leander’s words are soft. “Even if we do defeat the Delteans, St. Antilla might decide to strike when the Deltean threat has passed.”

“God…you really believe this.”

“History has proven this time and again—strike your enemies when they’re at their weakest. Our force is undoubtedly frozen within the barracks, like everyone else. If the St. Antillan forces haven’t struck yet, it’s likely because of that. Magic is scary to those who don’t understand it.”

A war with St. Antilla. Cordelia couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Of course, this was all speculation, but…she didn’t want to consider it.

“You’re really growing into your own, Princess. I have to say I’m impressed. I didn’t expect you to be so calm.”

“What did you expect?” Cordelia bites her cheeks; she didn’t mean to sound so haughty.

“I expected we’d be looking after a womanchild, if you want me to be frank. But you’ve matured into your own, and I respect that.”

This was the kindest that Leander has been to her—ever.

Cordelia gathers her focus; she’d take Leander’s words to heart.

If there was an impending war on Wellspring, she has to ready herself.

No matter the cost.


	30. Chapter 30

Cordelia couldn't get Leander's warning out of her head—despite the heat she felt upon her cheeks. The sun has only grown hotter since they departed from their shade; the air becoming thicker with each step. Hardly anyone conversed, was everyone feeling the same amount of fatigue she was? Even Radjerd wasn't his usual conversational self. Why didn't they just travel later? Cordelia shakes her head at her own thoughts; time is of the essence—a saying her own mother had used multiple times. She closes her eyes as she walks forward, attempting to dissuade the heat from her mind. It's not like she had much of a choice.

Cordelia pulls out her flask, tilting her neck back and allowing the cool liquid to spill down her throat. It would only be a matter of minutes before the water will just sweat itself out of her. She's relieved she doesn't have to live in this climate; she'd die. If she had married King Ryne, this weather would be something she’d have to experience daily—the mere thought of it makes her shudder. It’s a horrible thought, but a truthful one. She starts to lag behind, fatigue settling in her joints.

Leander is the first to notice as he glances behind him. He slows his pace to ensure that she doesn’t slack behind. Their conversation from earlier seemed to bridge a gap between the two—one Cordelia was definitely aware of. Cordelia suspected the firing of his brother, Elton Strauss, was the reason Leander didn’t like her. Elton was as stubborn as they came but then again, so was she. As tutors go, he was knowledgeable but incredibly cocky and condescending. She wasn’t interested in being talked down to—the man needed to learn some manners.  Maybe she deserved some of the backlashes, but not all of it. Elton was rude, and she didn’t regret relieving him of his position. She shakes her head at the memory, attempting to dispel it. It’s for the best that she drove him out—the state of Wellspring now was in deep chaos. Who knows how the towns were faring— _ugh_ —not now!  

“Princess?” Leander’s tone radiates concern.  

“I’m fine.” Cordelia’s lips curve into a gentle grin; his worry touches her.

“You looked unwell, even though we had a short rest. I’m no healer, but you might have a bit of heat stroke.” A hint of embarrassment laces his cheeks—although that could be just from the heat. It’s hard to tell. “Did you want me to tell the group to slow down?”

She responds with a smile, nodding her head in affirmation. “There’s no need. I’m tougher than you may realize.”

Leander cocks his head in uncertainty, “It appears so. Just…don’t overexert yourself.”

Cordelia feels the confused stare of Fenli, who was now focused on the two. While awkward, Cordelia could understand the confusion—Leander wasn’t the _caring_ type. She also sees Freydis stop in her tracks, turning around to see what the fuss was about. With a quick shake of her head, she taps Radjerd’s arm, the only one who was focused on their destination ahead.

<You’ve got competition.> Freydis says to Radjerd. He whips his head around, his violet eyes intent on Cordelia. He lets out a chuckle as his stare meets Leander’s. His laugh is charming…

<Mind your own business!> The teen says haughtily. <I have no such intentions.>

<Oh, I know sweetie. We’ve all been so quiet and it’s driving me insane. I need some chaos to entertain me, you know.> She winks.  

<And teasing someone who doesn’t deserve it is entertainment to you? Should have figured a small mind such as yourself would be entertained by something of such little substance.>

Cordelia blinks. _Wow, that’s harsh!_

<Kid’s got bite, I admire that.> Freydis cooly smirks, stepping closer to the teen. Cordelia’s tempted to step between the two, but Leander’s comment wasn’t worth an intervention. <You don’t want to fuck around with me. I’m tired, cranky, and itching to put someone six feet underground. Don’t let that be you.>

<Seriously, Leander. You’re smarter than this…> Fenli pinches between her brows. <Don’t antagonize those who can kill you. That’s basic survival.>  

<You’re going to stand by and let your girlfriend kill me?!> Leander balks, fear resounding in his eyes.

<Girlfriend? Me?> Freydis points to herself as her eyes light up in intrigue. She angles her head towards Fenli, a playful smirk graces her lips. <I quite like the sound of that.>

<Leander!!!> The shorter girl gasps in frustration but her deep crimson face indicates that she agrees with Freydis’s assumption. <Freydis, please, ignore that little shit…>  

<Ah, that he is…> Freydis hums, <But aren’t all brothers?> Cordelia imagines that she’s talking about Radjerd, but that would be impossible. She couldn’t see him as a brother—they’ve…well…no, she doesn’t want to think about it.

<Now you’ve gone and upset the princess with all of this nonsense.> Fenli rolls her eyes, her tone directed at Leander. It wasn’t bothersome to her. In fact, it was taking her mind off of the heat.

The humour did her some good.

 

Oasis Bridge—is busier than Cordelia had expected it to be. The bustling nature of the area overwhelms her imagination. She hadn’t expected it to be so full of activity—maybe she should have paid better attention to Leanna when she spoke of it. She looks beyond the sandy gates, the plaza packed with vendors lining the sides. Was it a merchant town?

<The letter says he’s beyond Oasis Bridge, but I want to check out the area first.> Radjerd states his attention before pressing forward.

<No, you’re not. Enemies litter the place, and I’m not letting you get mistaken for the man. You know not to use your name here.> Freydis pulls him back, looking at Cordelia. <Stay with her—make sure she doesn’t get lost. Fenli, the boy and I will scout. We’ll meet back here when the sun sets to the west.>

Radjerd nods, his eyes looking curiously on Cordelia. <It’ll be nice to have some alone time with you.> Why does she flush at the comment? She laughs nervously and nods toward the gate.

<Come on, now’s hardly the time to tease.>

Radjerd laughs, <Don’t look so worried>

<I’m not worried. I’m suspicious.>

<Of what?>

<This whole thing, to be honest. Who says anyone here will want to tell you anything about your father? No offence, but if he’s a wanted man, why would his letter say he’s near a bustling city?>

<Taking tips from Leander?>

<No, it’s an obvious…observation.> She spits out, slightly annoyed. <Do you wish to be killed?>

<I don’t—especially since I’m promised a darling of a wife.>

<Are you serious?!> Cordelia huffs—butterflies swirling in her stomach.

<Yes.> Radjerd leads her away from the entrance, bringing her to the east of the main gates. He pulls her into the alleyway, stealing a kiss from her lips. <I can barely keep my hands off of you enough as it is.>

Cordelia’s heart pounds against her chest as her gut swirls in anticipation. His warm lips make her already moist skin flush with delight. This isn’t the time to flounder—even if she wants to. The alleyway was hardly occupied, no trollops to be seen. He grins. <When we’re out on the streets, call me Oland.>

<Oland?>

<It’s my father’s middle name. It’ll keep my cover—mostly.>

<I’m serious. I don’t think today needs to be all full of gloom—and I could use the distraction.> He holds out his hand. Was Cordelia supposed to hold it? She tilts her head away, but her eyes still look at him. He flexes his fingers out as he laughs, <Do people not hold hands in Wellspring?>

<They do, but…> She stops, shaking her head. Why was she making this weird? She grabs it, her hand clams up as her face remains beet-red. They pass a few onlookers; much to her relief, there are no awkward stares. She begins to relax. Holding hands in public…it feels nice. She senses Radjerd feels the same, as his thumb begins to massage her palm. Being side-by-side with him like this feels right.

The crowds thicken as they approach the centre of the town, the market stalls filled with boisterous haggling. Cordelia could understand bits and pieces, but the speech was too fast to comprehend. He leads her to a stall displaying ornate fabrics—gorgeous silky robes with a luxurious gold trim. Her eyes sparkle in delight.

<Would you like one?> He gestures to the robe.

<No, I’m quite alright. It’s pretty, but I can’t imagine being covered up at the moment.> She laughs as the merchant stares at her with intrigue. The woman’s tall, broad and clearly examining her. She steps closer to Radjerd for protection. It turns out the woman was impressed with Cordelia’s tongue; as many Weltish folks didn’t bother to address her in her own language.

<Ah, I know!> Radjerd leads her to the back of the market, a building with a ring-shaped sign catches her attention. He guides her inside the building, halls of jewellery decorate the walls. The positioning of the overhead light made the store seem like a glass prism. Radjerd lets go of her hand. <Stay here for a moment, alright?>

Cordelia nods. She has suspicions he wanted to get her a ring—but didn’t want to say it. The thought makes her stomach flutter in anticipation. Cordelia didn’t expect one so soon.

Through the window, she can see both Fenli and Freydis outside—Leander was likely nearby, although she couldn’t see him. It’d be a good idea to let the group know where they were—in case of emergency. Cordelia leaves the building to meet up with the girls. Except, she’s thwarted in the side by someone’s elbow. She falls down, her palms bracing her fall. She hisses in pain—surprised when Freydis or Fenli don’t step in to help.

A man looks down at her, his forehead covered by a small cloth. It shields his eyes from the sun—why else would he wear it so close to his face? He scratches his tanned chin as he extends his hand out to Cordelia. <Are you alright, my dear?>

<Im fine, thank you.> Cordelia takes the stranger's hand as he helps her up. She needed to create a cover. <My— _husband_ —is in the jeweller’s over there.> Cordelia peeks her head above the crowd to see if Fenli and Freydis were still there—but they vanished. It's like they were never there. 

<Ah, I should have assumed as such. Man’s a fool for letting you out of his sight. I’m not used to seeing Weltish folk out this way, and I have to say he should know better. Your type _will_ get taken advantage of here.>

<Who says I’m Weltish?!> Cordelia shouldn’t have said that. It’s obvious she is!

<You’re flushed from the heat and have hair like gold. You’d not make it in the thieving trade, miss.>

<You don’t know—erm—> Cordelia silences herself, she didn’t want to give herself away as a complete stranger.

<To be fair, you can speak our tongue.> He hums confidently. <Maybe I shouldn’t criticize.>

Cordelia narrows her eyes. <You shouldn’t.>

<May I get a name, if you don’t mind?> He asks politely.

Using the moniker Radjerd gave her shouldn’t be a problem. <My name is Deely.> She holds out her hand. <And yours?>

He grabs her hand and kisses it lightly. <My dear, you can call me Oland.> … _What?!_ Oland— _this man couldn’t be Radjerd’s…father!?_ Cordelia calms down. Maybe Oland is a common name in this region.

<Looks like you swallowed a little bird. Should I be alarmed?>

She wasn’t expecting the man to sound so firm and confident. Or speak as eloquently as he does. If this man was Radjerd’s father, they could conclude their search and get him to help.

<No, it's just—that my ring—my ring is missing!> Cordelia fakes a gasp as she spreads out her fingers. <When I fell—my ring must have fallen off!>

<It’s a lucky thing that your husband is buying you another—since you did say he’s _in there._ Say, Deely, do you mind if I can meet the fellow?>

<But my ring!> 

<I'm sure your husband will buy you something better.> He smiles, taking the lead.

God, he saw right through her lie. 

 


	31. Chapter 31

Cordelia could sense the man’s stare on her as he opens the door to the jeweller's; the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end when she walks past him. Was this _Oland character_  really Radjerd’s father? God, she hoped so. Within moments, a different sales clerk returns to the front, keeping her distance behind the counter. Her fingers are decorated with rings of all cuts, sapphires, and rubies taking precedence over her wrinkled fingers. Her face somehow remains wrinkle free, although Cordelia had no idea how that was possible. Her sandy brown hair is tied back in a tight bun as her brown eyes linger on the man behind her.  

<Can I help you?> She asks curiously as she eyes the man behind Cordelia.  

<That man who came in with me,is he still in the back?> Cordelia whispers.  

<The tall fellow? Yes, he is—with one of our girls. You wouldn’t happen to be the one he’s shopping for, would you?> Her brow raises as she leans in, <Is that older fellow bothering you? I can shoo him away.>  

<No, it’s okay.> Cordelia reassures her, as kind as her gesture is. She can’t have him scoot away without introducing him to Radjerd. <Would you mind getting  _Oland_ for me?> Cordelia whispers to the older woman.  

<Certainly.> She nods, her mannerisms appearing to be more Weltish than St. Antillan. It shouldn’t surprise her. After all, Cordelia and Radjerd weren’t going to be the only Weltish/Antillan couple out here. The woman leaves the two customers alone,  _Oland_ _Sr._  is deathly silent.  

It’s awkward, but she’ll take the moment of quietness if only to sort out her thoughts. If she did find Radjerd’s father, that meant her trip back to Wellspring would be imminent. Was she ready for that? Cordelia rests a hand on her stomach as she inhales, allowing herself to breathe out slowly. It didn’t matter if she was ready—it was her duty to take back the palace.  

Radjerd returns through a parted curtain, Cordelia feeling instant relief the moment she sees him. She didn’t realize how safe she felt just by seeing his familiar features.  

<Deely?> His brows raise when he sees her return, not paying much attention to the man behind her. <What’s the matter?>  

<Nothing, I—> Her mouth freezes as she examines her situation. She couldn’t tell him that she had lost a ring that never existed—his face would obviously contort with confusion, immediately giving her away. There had to be a better way to deal with this. <—wanted to make sure you’re here.>  

<I wasn’t going to run off on you if that’s what you’re concerned about. You’re not someone I want to lose unnecessarily—since we’re to be married—> 

Cordelia strains to interrupt him but it’s too late. Now the man knows of her fib. She bristles, her ears sensitive to the slight gasp she hears from the older man’s lips.  

<I didn’t think you were buying me a ring.> She says, genuine surprise ordaining her tone. There was no point in hiding her intentions now. She hopes this man is Radjerd’s father. If not, she had mistakenly brought in a man who could decide to end them. It was dramatic but true. Cordelia straightens out her skirt, letting the thought that Radjerd had bought her a ring sink in. Holy shit...if he had, where did he get the kind of money for that purchase? It wasn't any of her business, but it did seem strange to her. He wasn’t carrying that much money on his person. He...didn't sell something else to get the ring, did he?  

<Don't be upset, Ma gave me an old heirloom that didn’t mean much to her. Thought it’d suit you just to have a new jewel around your finger.> His grin beams of pride. <Now, what colour do you like? Green, blue, purple—>  

<I don’t mean to interrupt, but—> The man inches his way forward into the conversation. <—I was thinking that purple would suit this lovely lady perfectly—matches your eyes, young man.>  

Radjerd’s stare is intense as he looks at the man. He’s slightly taller than Radjerd, which wasn’t noticeable until she observed them herself. He’s also darker than Radjerd; but that meant nothing. She wasn’t identical to her mother, either. But the way he’s looking at the older man is suspicious.  

<And who are you?> The thief asks warily.   

<I’m Oland.> The man says calmly, as his voice relaxes. <And what do I call you?>  

Radjerd’s voice is lined with uncertainty. <You may also call me Oland.>  

<Ah, well, the name’s common around these parts I reckon. But your darling is truly a rarity.> He nods gingerly. <Her skin isn’t going to take to the weather here, she’ll burn to a crisp. I’d suggest Wellspring, but I understand why you wouldn’t want to go back. It’s like a ghost town up north. People fleeing left and right from the stasis pandemic.>  

It hurt to hear those words, but it’d make the most sense. It must have been scary to see a palace in such a state.  

Radjerd nods, <There's no need to worry about us. We weren’t going to stay in this town for long.> Cordelia sees that his confusion grows with each word. It’s time for Cordelia to intervene. She turns to address the older man.  

<Actually...we’re looking for someone in this town. Maybe you can help us.>  

<Now, who might that be?> The man’s voice lowers. <This town be full of thieves and rogues of all classes, so I can’t imagine anyone of your choosing may be here.> 

<But that’s it, we are looking for someone of that nature. Or, at least I think we are.>  

<Deely—> Radjerd warns, but the man waves him silent.  

<Let the lady speak, I’m no friends with the law. Carry on,> His tone ushers that he wants her to speak her mind.  

<Not here,> Radjerd whispers, before he walks up to the clerk and conjures up an excuse to their departure. To her credit, she didn’t seem interested in their conversation. With a friendly nod, she waves them farewell before they exit the shop. Radjerd leads them both behind the shop, out of earshot of passersby. He pulls Cordelia aside when he asks, <Where did you find this man?>  

<Out in the streets, where I saw Fenli, Freydis and Leander. I wanted to let them know where we were, but they disappeared and I got knocked over. This man helped me up.> She was a little timid to tell Radjerd who she thought the man was, especially with his disapproving scowl.  

<And he followed you inside—great. If he’s trying to get fresh with you, I’ll send him flying.> 

<Doubtful, in fact, I was the one who brought him with me. I wanted you to meet him...he might be your dad.>  

Radjerd cocks his head to the side, uncertain if he believes what he’s hearing. <What gives you that impression?>  

<Well...his name for one. And his eyes are barely visible with that face cloth of his. He might be trying to hide the colour.>  

Radjerd sighs as he rugs his forehead, clearly taking his time with the information given. He turns to the man as he rests his back against the wall of the building.  

<I take it the two of you are part of a syndicate by the way you conduct your business.> The older man’s chuckle is deep. <I got to say, the two of you have to come up with a solid story before acting—young missy over here said the two of you were married, but that’s not what I saw in the shop...were you going to rob that innocent gel? She’s wiser than you’d think a Weltish woman would be, no offence to you or nothin’.>  

Cordelia wasn’t sure how to respond to him, but Radjerd has her covered. <Right, then it’s assumed that I don’t need to talk much then. I’ll just cut to the chase; do you know an Oland Laurius?>  

The man named Oland tilts his chin back suspiciously, appearing to be giving Radjerd the side-eye. She couldn’t really tell with his current garb If he was looking at them or not.  

<I do.> He says simply. Judging by the jerk of his shoulders, Radjerd wasn’t expecting that the man would say that he knows his father. <A shame that you know nothing of his dealings, dear boy. For those purple eyes of yours are a dead ringer to who you are, and I’ll be happy to report that he’s been longing to see you.>   

<You’ve been  _following_ us?> Radjerd narrows his eyes. <For how long?>  

<He has eyes around town, so it didn’t take long when we saw you and your lady walk in. Your purple eyes are unmistakable to who you are; he’s already been alerted to your arrival.>  

<What if I chose to visit Oasis Bridge with no wish to see him—would you take me by force?> He sighs, speaking quickly before the older man gets a chance to talk. <But as luck will have it, I came here to see him concerning an important matter. I assume you can bring us to him.>  

<You wish to tell him of your engagement to...Forgive me, but I don’t know how to formally address you.>  

Cordelia decides to pose as a noblewoman. She would use her father’s surname—Firthe—the one he had before taking the position as King of Wellspring.  

<You may call me Lady Firthe, but Deely suits me fine.> Cordelia politely nods.  

<Ah, so I was right. I’m surprised that you didn’t ask me to address you as a Lady back when I first met you. Strange, that...>  

<Stop fishing her, and take us to see my father.> Radjerd commands.  

<As you wish,> The man nods, waving them to follow.  

 

The couple is brought through a slick alleyway, paranoia hitting them that they couldn’t alert their companions before their departure. The man named Oland assured them that there was no need, and all would be well. Such words for a shifty character, but Cordelia didn’t have much of a choice. She had to respect the laws that this man was enforcing, whether she liked it or not. Ultimately, she needed to speak to Radjerd’s father about her plight. She prays that he’ll help, she has no idea what they'll do if he doesn’t. She'd be out of options, and then what? Does she decide to stay away from Wellspring? She couldn’t just abandon her people, could she? They didn’t think much of her, but that was hardly an excuse.  

She had to do something.  

<Now pay attention, because this is the tricky part.> The man smiles near what seems to be a dead end. It’s a clay brick wall, appearing to be solid as stone—until he sticks his hand through it. Illusion magic is the first thought that comes to Cordelia’s mind, but she doesn’t pretend to be an expert. She observes as the man’s arm is fully engulfed in the wall. She takes two looks behind her to ensure that no one else is seeing this.  

<How is that possible?!> Cordelia gasps.  

<It’s a cloaking spell, nothing more. We don’t want intruders hovering around our base—so I assure you it’s for the protection of our clan.> He waves them over before stepping further into the wall. <Now hurry, before we’re caught.> He gestures with urgency.  Even Radjerd seems uncertain as he takes the first step in, Cordelia watches in both horror and amazement as he walks right through. He extends out his hand to the princess as she takes it, allowing herself to be pulled through the clay.  

Inside is a dimly lit hallway, with a staircase lit only by a few torches. Shivers travel up Cordelia’s back as they traverse deeper into the underbelly of the town. To be hidden by magic, Cordelia expected a grander base of operations, not a dank catacomb-like environment.  

<What is this place?> Radjerd asks, the echo of his voice travels through the hall.  

<Your father’s headquarters.> Oland says simply, the shortness of his tone indicates he doesn’t wish to explain.  

<I figured as much, but...> He stops mid-sentence as he looks around.  

<I won’t lie, it’s creepy.> Cordelia says while subconsciously drifting closer to the taller man. He squeezes her hand reassuringly before they are led into an opening, soon revealing itself to be a grand room—resembling the throne room back in Wellspring. Ornate furniture adorns the room, positioned for practical use. Sitting at the head of the room is a man who’s engaged in conversation with a young boy. She notices her hand is squeezed tighter as the man looks directly at Radjerd, his violet eyes almost glowing as he stands up. She doesn’t see his face until he walks up, a smile grows from the intrigued man’s mouth.  

<Well I’ll be, it really is you.> His gaze is warm as he pats Radjerd on the shoulder. <It’s good to see you again, my son.>  


	32. Chapter 32

Cordelia stiffens, immediately sensing the discomfort of the man beside her. The tension is thick; the instinct to flee is strong—but she won’t leave him. The exit is guarded—even if she bolted, she wouldn’t get far. She senses the number of bodies surrounding them—their forms still lurking in the shadows—she hears the soft clanking of light armour. God, where the hell _are_ they?! Cordelia grits her teeth, attempting not to panic. After all that she’s witnessed, that should be easy…but…she’s scared. They hadn’t had to fight anyone off recently, she’s hoping that will still be the case.

She holds her breath when Radjerd speaks.

<Your goon told us you have eyes over town. Why is that?> Radjerd says coolly, crossing his arms as he leans away from his father.

The older man breathes through his nose, the action laced with frustration. He pulls a face before shaking his head. <I wasn’t exepectin’ a hug or nothin’, but I gotta say this is a poor way to say hello to yer pop.>

Cordelia ponders briefly; why did his accent change? Or, was it always so informal…her ears weren’t trained in deceptive tonal-switches. She prays that she’s being paranoid, but the accent seems so caked on. It’s hard to ignore.

<Don’t dodge the question.> Radjerd growls, uninterested in his father’s greeting.>

<If ‘ya must know…> His accent is thick. <See, I get paid for keeping criminal activity above board—swindling, forgeries, _prostitution— > _He reaches for Cordelia’s chin, but Radjerd interferes, smacking his head away. An amused laugh escapes his tight lips. <This little lady could make sacks of gold in the trade, but it seems she’s yours. Surprised m’boy’s into high-class copper pinchers.>

A cool anger circles through Cordelia’s being, her eyes wide with disapproval when the man leers at her. <I am _not_ his, and you’d be best to keep those nasty thoughts to yourself.> Cordelia shouts. She doesn’t care if that means her head will be cleaved from the rest of her body—he had no right addressing her so carelessly.  

The man’s frown turns to a wide grin. <I needn’t mean harm—where did you meet a lass like her, son?>

The man who guided them underground steps forward, answering his leader’s question. <A noblewoman from Wellspring, General.> Cordelia widening her eyes at the title. Did he just say _General?_ She couldn’t have heard him correctly. A general was an army officer at the highest rank—not a glorified ill-spoken thief. He was likely misusing the word.  

<Baltus, no need to confuse the kids.> He waves off the title in dismissal. <Let’s talk in the main hall. This old castle’s gunna crumble if we carry on in ‘ere.> He puts both an arm around both his son and Cordelia, guiding them swiftly to the door near the well-worn chair. He leads them into a private corridor, the clinking of the soft armour gives Cordelia warning that they’re being followed. He guides them both to a dimly lit room, decorated in fine ornate furniture. The more Cordelia dwelled on the surroundings, she could piece together that this was an old castle. But why was it underground?

<Now, boy, I’m no fool. I know y’aint ‘ere for a reunion proper. There’s something else yer after.> He sits in front of them, his cool violet eyes narrowing—almost glowing. <I might see the future, but readin’ minds ain’t my specialty.>

Radjerd rolls his eyes at the man’s poor attempt at a joke. <If you tell me why your men refer to you as their general.>

<General is a funny word, ya catch my drift?> He chuckles as he leans his hand on his hand, edging closer to the two. <It has two meanings—one bein’ the span of something common, the other a high position under royalty.>

<I’m not in the mood for riddles. Why are you stalling?>

<Stalling? Only if it’s to get a good look at ‘ya. You’re so big.> His chuckle is prideful. <It’s nice to see ya face to face.> Radjerd steps back, nudging his father’s hand off of his shoulder. <…I didn’t mean ta leave you and your ma the way I did.> His tanned face frowns, leaving the sound of the crackling torch to fill the room. <Don’t know what she told ya, but must ‘ave been awful for ya to have that spiteful look on your face.>

<She didn’t have to, you left before I was born.>

<But my eyes were on you ever since.> He calmly says. <Not everything is as black and white as it appears.>

<Spying on me since I was a babe? Pitiful, if that’s the best you could do.> Irritation fills his words. <Do you honestly believe me to expect that you had a good reason to abandon your family?>

<It was for ya protection.> He frowns. <If I was truly hated, ya wouldn’t possess my namesake. My own pa was a nasty ol’ bastard—I’d ‘ave been the same. Serilda—the poor lass—witnessed my handiwork. Sometimes the best thing you can do for ya family is to leave.>

Radjerd glowers. Cordelia senses a rage deep within him that can’t be quelled with a simple apology. She looks to Radjerd Sr, who’s not surprised by his son’s response—like he expects it. Cordelia silently scolds herself—any person with a thinking mind would see that Radjerd’s response was natural!

<Is that what you tell yourself—abandoning your small daughter and your expectant wife—creepily keeping watch on us as the years went by, instead of having the balls to visit us? You working on this _whatever_ underground syndicate this is, while leaving me to provide for Ma?>

The older man closes his eyes, his face oddly relaxes as he listens to his son’s grievances. It irks Cordelia that he’s so calm.

<This is why ya be better than me. Because you never had me to teach you how a man must behave.> He lets out a pleasant laugh. <If ya did, that nice lass would be lost to the woods of Wellspring. Yer Ma deserved a lot better than me.>

Why…did that make sense? Cordelia didn’t want to agree with this statement but it resonates with her. He wasn’t wrong in his statement, her past experiences with her own parents proving that the man might have a point. Still, it wouldn’t erase Radjerd’s anger. It shouldn’t. The man wasn’t right in his reasoning—even if it did make sense in some weird way.

<She did.> Is all Radjerd can say. He presses his fingers between his brows as he looks up at the ceiling. If she’s to guess what he’s doing, he’s quelling his anger. But Cordelia senses it wouldn’t be for long—there’s a nervous twitch to his foot as he bounces it up and down. <So did my sister.>

<Nothin’ could be done—her fate was sealed—>

<Don’t you dare talk shit about fate!> He leaps from his seat and takes a fistful of his father’s sleeve. Cordelia jumps—the anger while justified scares her. <My sister could hardly breathe and her last wish was to see your ungrateful ass—and you have the audacity to tell me that you were _justified_ in leaving us, all because your own father was a mess of a man?!>

<Don’t raise yer voice. You be scarin’ the lady.> The man’s smug grin spreads across his face.

Cordelia can’t see Radjerd’s face, but she suspects it isn’t pleasant. He’s silent before he rips his hand away from his father, his shoulders still tense. A brief second passes before she sees his fist fly into the cheek of the man. She jumps, her hands clasping over her mouth as she lets out a heightened gasp. The man falls to the floor, his eyes more lit up in intrigue than anything else.

<Don’t bother getting up, or I’ll hit you again.>

Cordelia’s torn; Wellspring’s fate coming to mind when she leaps from her seat to restrain Radjerd from potentially killing his father—even if he deserved it. She needed this man to save her kingdom. His arms are flexed, preparing to land another hit; Cordelia’s barely able to control him. His muscles relax; he didn’t want to hurt her.

<Told you you’d scare the woman.> The older man says, a wry chuckle leaves his lips before he helps himself up. <I got to admit yer hand is strong. You were fed well.>

_< I swear I’ll put you in the ground.> _

<Them very words I said to my old man. Seems the apple doesn’t fall far.>

<I’m nothing like you.> Radjerd spits out.

<Be thankful for it—but don’t be hitting me ‘round yer woman. It ain’t appropriate.>

<Neither is leaving your family…Serilda was dying for fuck’s sake.>

<She wasn’t sick when I left.>

<You could have come back for her, given her comfort before she died.>

<And introduced myself to you? You would ‘ave got attached—wouldn’t want me to leave ya.> Sorrow laces his tone. <You’ll be thanking me when you have little ones of yer own.>

<Stop fucking with me.> He turns away, both hands clenched into fists.

<Then why did you come?> He tilts his head to the side. <Surely it isn’t because ya wish to get to know me—you want something.>

<You’re right about that…> Radjerd mutters to himself as he looks at Cordelia. <You’ll have to ask.> His tone is bitter, like he blames her for being here. A pang of guilt laces her stomach before she builds the courage to ask.

<Ya know who I am.> He smiles, extending his hand. <I don’t know ya though, m’lady.>

<My name is Cordelia—and—I should be honest about my intentions.> She stares at the man with uncertainty in her eyes—she’s not sure if she was truly ready for what she was about to admit. <I…am the Princess of Wellspring. I come this way to ask you for your aid—to take down the plague that has befallen my homeland.>

<How do ya reckon I can help?> A suspicious brow raises on the man’s face.  

<The Devil’s Curse—you have it, don’t you?>

<I do, but so should my son.> He gestures to Radjerd. <Ya don’t need me.>

Cordelia looks to Radjerd in uncertainty. They came this far, didn’t they? They should tell the man why Radjerd doesn’t have his powers… _he_ should be the one to say it, but by the look of her companion’s scowl, he wasn’t going to say a word. She had to do it.

<A Galatean man named Gale—King Ryne’s hand—stole Radjerd’s powers from him.> Cordelia winces, the memory hard to revisit. She doesn’t see Radjerd turn away from her.

<By god…> His eyes show no surprise, despite his tone sounding so. Something about him was _off._ <I ‘ave to cover me basis; how do I know yer a Princess? Could be lyin’ ta me—likewise, I don’t think to foretell my boy snatchin’ up royalty.>

<I have a signature from the king himself, I’ll show you.> Cordelia reaches into Radjerd’s satchel and hands him the letter they packed. <I don’t know if you can read Weltish, but his signature is there.>

<Ah, so y’are.> He taps his finger to his lips. <Not a very wise princess, methinks, asking help from a man such as myself.> His stare is cool, his smirk eerily similar to that of his son’s when she first met him. <How did you meet my son?>

<If you must know, he kidnapped me.>

<Don’t believe it. The way you two carry yourselves ‘round one another shows care.>

<…That came later.> She attempts to hide her blush but it’s obvious.

The man lets out a hearty laugh as he rests one hand on his stomach.

<I don’t appreciate being teased.> Radjerd narrows his eyes.

<It’s not in jest, I’m impressed.> His laugh quells, as a sobering look crosses his gaze. <A Galatean really stole your powers, boy?>

Radjerd nods.

<If you help us, you can save my kingdom and destroy the man who hurt your son—and the man who killed your King. You said you were a General, and the implications aren’t lost on me on what that means. You would have been loyal to King Ryne before his passing.>

The older man’s violet eyes widen in intrigue. <Smart lass, but that’s to be expected of a future ruler.> A look of uncertainty spreads across his face. <I regret having to do this…> His accent switches, much more prevalent to a noble bred man. He snaps his fingers, the door opens to five similarly dressed men entering the room. <I don’t mean to do this, but orders govern my hand.> Cordelia steps back in alarm as two men dressed in armour approach them.

<What the hell does that mean?> Radjerd switches his focus on his father.

<It means that Her Majesty is wanted by our country for suspect of our King’s murder. The Delteans may have felled him, but our new leader deems that Wellspring must endure the same fate as his family.>

Cordelia’s heart hammers against her chest as she clenches her cloak. _God, she had every right to be suspicious. She’s going to die here!_  

<Whatever your king is paying you, we can do it ten times the amount!> Cordelia pleads. <You won’t have to live underground like a criminal. You can live a good life in Wellspring, be crowned a hero!>

<What makes you think I want a life above ground? With the Devil’s Curse comes foresight—glimpses of what’s to come. I knew this meeting was going to happen, and what I needed to do to loosen the two of you up.> He grins again as he lowers his eyes, Cordelia grasping her throat as the air is seemingly being sucked from her throat. She collapses to the ground—as he raises a brow when he stares at his son. He’s shocked when Radjerd comes barreling at him with his fists—it’s like he expected him to use a different technique. He politely steps out of the way of Radjerd’s aggression.

<You really have lost them…> He stares at his son keeping Cordelia on the ground. Her breath has returned, but she is immobile. He lifts a hand to his son, the same crippling power undoing him as well.

<How the _fuck_ didn’t I see this?! > Radjerd grits his teeth as he struggles to move.

<The King orders that I bring her in, alive I presume. Maybe he wants to make a wife out of her, or he wants to strangle that smooth porcelain neck of hers. Unfortunately, my powers can’t see all.>

<Then you know what the fate of Wellspring is!> Cordelia yells despite her shortness of breath. <You can tell me exactly what’s going to happen to my country!>

<Is that why the Delteans wanted you? Because you could see the future?!>

<Yes,> He frowns. <But my boy, you’re better off without them. And _her. > _

<Don’t you dare—> He’s muted as Cordelia lets out a shriek—her wrists searing in pain as they feel like a weight is crushing them, the pain tearing throughout her body as she struggles to keep conscious.

It’s just as Leander had said. The Antillans were angry and wanted justice for King Ryne’s death.

And Cordelia would be the one to pay the price.  


	33. Chapter 33

Cordelia groans; her body’s sore all over; the pressure in her joints making it difficult to stand upright. Her wrists tingle against the metal shackles chained against the wall. Her memory’s foggy; she can barely remember what had happened to her. She squints through the darkness, two single torches barely lighting the way in front of her. She peers forward, seeing that a satchel hangs near a torch down the hall...soon the glint of the metal bars catching her attention. She narrows her eyes, it helps adjust her vision. She can barely make it out, but she thinks it’s a man lying on the ground. Cordelia didn’t need to second guess who it was.

Panic wells in her throat as she shouts at Radjerd to wake up; it works faster than she expects. He stirs, moving his arms frantically as he hops to his feet. One thing Cordelia notices immediately—he’s unbound by chains. Trickles of the older man who claimed to be Radjerd’s father (and proved to be) came rushing to her mind; his power forcing her the ground in pain, sucking the air from her throat as she struggled to breathe. She shudders, a phantom pressure on her neck emulates the sensation. She takes a sharp breath. It’s all in her head

Cordelia hears the thief rattling the bars.

<Damn it, _fucking dammit! > _He hisses, kicking the bar with his shoe. She can barely see his eyes, but she feels his stare on her. <How long were you awake?>

<Not much longer than you—can you find a way out?>

<I should have known he’d betray us, useless waste of skin…> Radjerd’s mutter is thick with resentment. <If I get my hands on that bastard I’m going to choke the life out of him.>

<Is that even possible? He was able to restrain me with little effort.> She attempts to bring a hand to her throat but the chain isn’t long enough. <He’s got us trapped.>  

Radjerd grunts in irritation as he lets go of the bars. <Not for long he doesn’t; I’m going to find a way out. This isn’t the first time I’ve been locked up.>

While true, Cordelia still worries that it won’t be enough. Their captor had magic. The moment he catches them trying to escape, he can freeze them mid-movement. Even worse, he claimed he could see the future—he’d already know what they were planning to do! Was it even worth trying to escape? Cordelia leans against the clay wall, sighing in defeat. If they were in some dungeon torture chamber, there’s no way they’d get past the guards; they’d be waiting for the possibility.

Radjerd threads his arm through the bars, managing to grab one of the torches from the wall. It’s a flaw of the dungeon’s design, but one Cordelia’s grateful for. Seeing _some_ kind of movement gave her the illusion of progress.

<Try melting the lock.> Cordelia says, pointing to the rusty metal barring the door as best she could. <Is the handle made out of wood? If not, you could try hitting it with the torch end when it’s hot enough.

<The handle isn’t made from wood but it’ll just melt—and the flame isn’t big enough. I don’t think it’s going to help.>  

<Just try!> Cordelia yells.

He frowns, but he gives her suggestion a try. He waves the flame tip against the door, the lock barely changes in colour.

<Hold it under longer!>

<What do you think I’m doing?> He grunts in annoyance.

<Well do it better!>

She doesn’t notice Radjerd glower at her words.  He doesn’t say anything to her, instead choosing to focus on the flame. <Damn thing…>

Cordelia lets out a moan as she leans against the cool clay wall. It’s getting chilly down here. She turns away from Radjerd when she asks, <What do you think the king’s brother is going to do to me? What if he thinks I killed King Ryne…he’ll kill me too…won’t he?>  

<You’re not going to find that out. I’m going to get us out of here.> Radjerd sighs as he leans his head against the bars, the torch still in his hand. She can see trails of sweat drip down his forehead. That wasn’t reassuring. Cordelia scans the room again, hoping something will come to her. She wasn’t a thief or a mastermind of any sort, but she couldn’t let herself be turned in.

Radjerd looks around the cell, attempting to find escape routes he might have missed. <My dear old pop doesn’t seem to have anyone watching us—that means he’s certain we won’t escape.>

<Your father can see the future—he’ll know what we’re trying to do.>

<Don’t give up so easily.> He says with an annoyed tone she recognizes from their earlier days.

<He can _see the future! > _Cordelia parrots. It’s hard for her to keep a handle on her fears; her imagination running wild with possible outcomes. The current King would blame Cordelia for the death of his brother. There’s no way he wouldn’t.

Dread creeps in when Cordelia hears a creek of a metal door opening.

God, _please no._ Don’t let it be his father.

She closes her eyes as she bites her lip. The footsteps weren’t accompanied by a soft clinking sound—meaning one thing. The wearer wasn’t wearing armour.

It had to be him.

Cordelia opens her eyes to see that the older man’s gaze is upon her. There’s an accomplishment to his grin, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Radjerd.

<You better keep your hands off of her.> His tone is cold and full of warning. Why was that his first thought?! God! Cordelia grimaces when the older man looks at her.

<I’m many things, but a molester isn’t one of them. I’d never force my hand in lust.> He passively shakes his head. Glad to see he had _some_ morals. <But, I do need to uphold my duty.> The corners of his mouth curve as his gaze wanders to his son. <I’m surprised you haven’t tried to escape.>

<Don’t fuck with me.> Radjerd grits his teeth as anger fuels his words. <You bloody know I can’t—you made sure of that.>

<Have I?> Radjerd Sr.’s eyes glisten with intrigue. <Do you know how your powers work at all?>

<You know the Galatean stole them!> Radjerd hisses with anger.  

<Do you think your powers have vanished, just like that?> The man snaps his fingers. Cordelia’s not used to his change in dialect. He had the Antillan accent, but his words were proper. What was the point of faking his intelligence?

<So, you’re saying I still have them?>

<Your abilities are inherited through birth—but they are also inherited through _death,_ if you catch my meaning.> A long pause indicates that Radjerd has no idea what the man’s talking about. Cordelia was starting to—did he mean that if he died, Radjerd would inherit his abilities—like she would if her mother passed? God…that idea was hopeful. A brief glance in her direction and the older man understood Cordelia’s thoughts. <Her Highness understands.>

<No, I get what you’re saying. But why tell me something that pointless—do you want me to kill you?>

Radjerd Sr. doesn’t speak.

<Do you?!> Radjerd echoes.

<I don’t want to hurt either of you more than I already have.> The man sighs.

<So let us go.>  

<Will you give me a good enough reason to free you?> He smirks, raising a brow at Radjerd. <Just how far are you willing to go for her?>

<You can see the future, so you should already know the answer to that.>

<I can’t see _everything,_ boy.> A fact that the older man seems bothered by.

<Oh, is that the excuse you’re going to use? I was wondering how you were going to dodge Serilda’s death.>

< _As I said_ , I can’t see how everything’s going to play out.> There’s a sadness to his tone that rings true for Cordelia. <And because you’re my son, I’ll give you an out—but only if you’re man enough to take it.>

<What the hell are you talking about?!>

<I know how this ends—so surprise me. Attempt the future.> He smirks, his smile resembling Radjerd’s.

<Like I can bloody do that.>

<Do you know what you’re up against?> The switch in subject surprises Cordelia—she expected a verbal brawl of the biggest proportions. <The Galatean race is powerful, but not so much that they can rid you of your powers—they’re deeply connected to our bloodline. No one can suck them out of you. Not even a Galatean.>

<How the hell do you know that—Have you had a Galatean try to suck out your powers too?> Radjerd’s tone is mocking.

<No, but I do know history—boy. I should share you the courtesy, if you’re ever to best my interest…do you know anything about the Galateans?  I assume you don’t if you were trying to fight one. Were you really so short-sighted as to go in blind?>

<I wasn’t trying to go after the Delteans, I was trying to save Deely.>

<Deely? Oh—he means _you. > _A quick glance in his direction tells Cordelia he finds the nickname amusing. <That name doesn’t suit you in my opinion, too dowdy. As for your positioning, I know you were trying to find off the Delteans. Dumb move.>

<Says the man they were looking to recruit.> Radjerd grumbles through clenched teeth. <Your power was just as sought after as mine was.>

<I remember. I wasn’t interested in being a part of a magical syndicate led by Edward. He’s an idiot led with a false belief that he’s owed what was _lost_ to him centuries ago. I wasn’t interested in his sob story. I could see that his venture would be a failure—even if I was a part of it. If I did that, there would be no reason for you to see me.  You might not need my abilities, but there are things you should know about the Galateans.>

<You’re talking like you want to free us.> Radjerd says warily.

<I had to capture you—to impose my will on the both of you—to keep with the vision. Listen. Stopping a full-fledged Galatean is risky, almost impossible. We’re not of Galatean blood—only other Galateans can finish off their race. They are invincible and immortal. That’s why they have what’s called “The Angel’s Blessing”, they are literal angels sent from above to help the world become better, stronger, more peaceful. They were meant to help the world grow peaceful, but it seems that the longer they stay on this earth, the more they’re influenced by human desires, good or bad. From what I learned of Gale, he’s witnessed the Wellspring massacre on the magic users—and was set into some kind of destructive mode when he saw the king perish. Not only that, but Edward was also a descendant of that family, correct?>

Cordelia nods.

<That’s what I thought.> The older man closes his eyes.

<Gale has deep affections for the king, he made that clear to me. I don’t think he anticipated Edward killing the man. Neither did I—but I think he did it to save me.> Shudders return from the memory—Cordelia does her best to diffuse it. <Gale also knew that Radjerd had “The Devil’s Curse.”>

<He did?> The surprise that splashes across the older man’s face isn’t expected. She supposes he was right about not being able to see everything. <How did he find out?>

Cordelia doesn’t want to admit to the man who could kill her in seconds that it was her fault. She also didn’t have the heart to admit to Radjerd that she’s the one who put him in danger. She lies to save face <He suspected it.>

There’s a long pause before Radjerd Sr. speaks again. <Galatea’s Spring was apparently demolished, but it’s not really destroyed, is it?> Cordelia gets chills throughout her body—Gale referenced that very spring. He notes the cool expression on her face. <I already know of the Queen’s condition.> He turns to Radjerd. <I also know what’s going to happen to the princess, and she needs to be prepared for it.>

Cordelia freezes.  

<The well that your mother drank from has given her powers that even I don’t understand. All I know is that you will inherit them. I don’t know how—that’s what remains unclear.>

<Why are you telling us this?> Cordelia asks out of confusion.

<I too have betrayed St. Antilla, for I knew King Ryne would perish—I did nothing to stop it. I let it happen, just so I could see my own son before the inevitable.>

Cordelia doesn’t understand what’s happening. Her mind can’t grasp it—one minute he wanted to ship them off to the palace, and now, it sounds like he wants to _help them?_ She stays silent, for now.

<Did your henchman know about King Ryne’s inevitable death?>  

The older man pauses; his face growing wrinkled with stress. <No, they didn’t. It’ll be up to the two of you to keep that secret. I won’t fault you for it if you don’t.>

<And the inevitable refers to…?>

<You asked me if I knew the fate of Wellspring, and I’m afraid I don’t. There’s only one reason why I can’t foresee it.>

<And why’s that?> Radjerd asks with heavy suspicion.

The older man takes in a long, deep breath before he whispers, <I’m to die at the hands of the princess.>


	34. Chapter 34

Cordelia steps back, the older man’s words echo through her ears. She doesn’t know how to respond to his claim? There’s no way she could kill a man—she had no training! Hell, she couldn't fight off Giant Spiders without Radjerd's help! There was no chance of that—he lost his abilities. Cordelia’s steel-blue eyes vibrate in fear as the older man's cool stare chills her entire being. His frown creeps into a grin as he crosses his arms.

<You seem surprised. Why?>

<Why wouldn’t I be?> Cordelia says with attitude. She mustn’t show fear—the man believed she’d be the one to strike him down. Could she play that to her advantage? His amused expression tells her otherwise.

<Your eyes say something different. Tell me, have you taken a life before?> God, what was she supposed to say to that?

Cordelia holds firm. <I haven't.>

<I’ll be your first…interesting.> He rests both his arms by his side, his stare focused on the torch near Cordelia. The crackling grows louder—was he manipulating the flame with his eyes—or was that her overactive imagination? No, that wasn’t fair—the man claimed to have a handful of abilities, it wasn't her fault if she couldn't identify every single one!

<Deely, don’t listen to him!> Radjerd says in a low growl. <We can’t trust a thing he says.>

<He has a point, _Deely. > _

<Don’t call her that!> Radjerd hisses.   
  
The older man raises a brow as he glimpses over his shoulder. <Now, what’s the harm in using that endearing little nickname you call her? Do you think the royals in Wellspring will accept her little pet name? Or you? Boy, have you considered your position _if_ the princess regains her title? I daresay, it's an exciting future to consider.>

Radjerd rattles the bars frantically; his anger building with each shake.

<Will my boy become a king?> The raised brow remains as he studies Cordelia’s face.

<That’s none of your concern.> Cordelia says in a calm voice.

<It is my concern—this is my son we're discussing.> The dark-haired man says with pride. <I’ve never thought that was possible. I’m sure it impressed Leanna to see our boy making such high connections.>

<Leave Ma out of this.>

<She was the love of my life, Leanna. Didn’t deserve her rather, but we always appreciate what we have more when we no longer have them. She was better off without me.>

<We can both agree there.> Radjerd mutters quietly.

<Tell me son, do you _want_ there to be a war between our nations?> He calmly turns to face Radjerd.

<What do you think?>

<Did you consider that the people of Wellspring won’t accept an Antillan groom?>

<Shut up.> Radjerd snaps.

<You haven’t. Not surprised—love is rather finicky. It will be your downfall if you can’t reign in your feelings. Our Curse isn’t meant to be helpful to the ones we love—taking lives is what we’re best at. _> _

The way he sounds is bone chilling. Cordelia’s shoulders tense when he faces her again. <And _you_ …how far are you willing to go to save your own kingdom—are you willing to sully your hands—and your morality? That could be dangerous—our royal house suspects you’re the one who placed a hit on our king. One wrong move and you could plunge your people into a war—one they’re not prepared to fight.>

<Then it’s best we resolve things in Wellspring immediately. Come with us—you’ll be rewarded, despite what you’ve done to us.> Cordelia’s voice is strong, despite the fear sloshing around in her stomach. She notes the dirty glare Radjerd gives the man as his father turns back to face her. If there was any reason left in his bones, he’d take the offer. <With your powers, we could get rid of the Delteans, and free my mother from her spell. I and my kingdom would owe you a debt we could not repay.>

<You’ve said these words before—you won’t change my mind.> Radjerd’s father closes his eyes. <There are two ways that you’ll leave this place. One—if you kill me, or two, I bring you to our king, who won’t have such kind activities for you.>

<We didn’t kill King Ryne—and you _know_ we didn’t! > Radjerd spits. <We'll spill your secret, that you foresaw his death and did nothing to stop it.>

<I gave the both of you my terms. End my life, or _she’s_ handed over to the king. Your choice, princess.>

It’s hard to fall through on an assassination request with bound wrists. As if he’d heard her speak her mind, Cordelia sees the man’s eyes glow a bright violet before snapping his fingers; the weight around Cordelia’s wrists dissipates. She stumbles back, using the wall to catch herself. She stares at the man with distrust.

<I'd use this moment to attack if I were you.> Amusement crosses his grin as Cordelia doesn’t take her eyes off of the man. He doesn’t move—content with staring at her.

<And how do you suggest I’d get started?> Cordelia asks with haughtiness to her voice.

<You’ve never killed someone before—my, what a privileged life you lived. I say I’m envious. You never forget your first kill, no matter how hard you try to.> A solemn frown hits his lips as he appears to recall the memory. <Now that I gave you a fighting chance, have at me.>

What?! Cordelia gasps as she stares at the man in fright—how was she supposed to do that?! Cordelia braces herself, unsure what the man would do. He has a dagger on him, but that didn't mean he'd fight back—would he? God—how was she going to kill a man with no weapon or magic of her own? She clenches her teeth together as her heart races; her palms sweating.

<Come on, use your imagination—there are ways to finish me. Get creative!> Cordelia glances to the torch—she could chuck it at him, but would he just let that happen? Cordelia grabs the torch, waving it in front of her. He doesn’t move, except for a single eyebrow raise.

<You mean to burn me?> He says with a renounced chuckle. <Fire won’t do much.>

Was she willing to test that theory? Cordelia aims the torch in front of her as she inches toward him, her sight partially blinded by the flame. She hears Radjerd shout from the cell but her focus is on his father. She pinches her brows together as she clenches her hand around the handle of the torch, lunging towards him before losing her footing, the torch falls to the ground with a hollowed thud; the flame disappears. Scrambling to her feet, Cordelia whisks backward, but the man still hasn’t moved from his spot.

<You have no combat training—how sad.> Cordelia blinks, wiping the dirt from her cheek. <Maybe if you had an incentive, you'd use something...else...> He grabs Cordelia by the arm, chucking her towards the wall, a sharp pain lodges between her spine. Cordelia yelps, the sound spurns anger deep within Radjerd’s voice. She hears him cursing his father’s name—but it makes no difference to the older man approaching her. <I’ll give you a reason to fight me.>

How the hell was she supposed to best someone with _years_ of experience? Was that even possible? Cordelia couldn’t give up—the man said she’d end his life with her own hands. She doesn’t have time to deliberate what to do—she had to act. Charging forward, Cordelia attempts to tackle the man, but he captures her in his arms. He restrains her wrists as he forces her to the ground. With his knee edged in her back, she screeches in pain. Radjerd’s frantic pleas to free her seem lost on the man as he grabs a fistful of her hair. The man’s weight on top of her unbearably pressures her ribs. <Fight back.> He says with a disappointed grunt.

<I…can’t…> She struggles to breathe as she claws the ground with her fingertips. She looks up; her steel-blue eyes pleading for Radjerd to help. Her head is forcibly yanked back as she hears the man unsheathe his dagger. He would slit her throat!

A thin slicing sound reaches her ears as her head is suddenly free, her face smacks against the floor. A cool breeze is felt against the back of her neck; the sudden weight on her body is lifted. She flings herself on her back to escape her attacker, her eyes seeing the blond heap on the floor; an ungodly sound escapes her throat when she feels the ends of her hair with her fingertips.

He chopped off her hair!

Tears well in her eyes as she stumbles back, winded from the brief combat they already had. She stares at Radjerd; the shock in his eyes was unmatched as he stared at her. The urge to run to him is strong, she follows her whims as he reaches for her. She’s quickly pulled back by the man—his frustration with her incompetence growing strong. He pins her against the wall with his arm, slowly cutting off her circulation as he takes out his dagger once again. She thrashes in his grip, now clawing him to get free. She no longer cared for the scattered chunks of blonde hair behind him—all she yearned for now was her freedom.

<Kill me.> He says with a teasing glance. <That’s what you’re supposed to do, so do it!>

She doesn’t know how—she can’t even breathe! Cordelia swipes at the man with her hands, but his free arm pins her wrist back. <You’re supposed to have powers—use them!>

<I d-don’t—> She splutters when he eases his grip on her throat. <I don’t have any powers!>

<You do—now use them!> He echoes loudly. 

Cordelia can’t make out the sounds Radjerd’s making—her vision grows blurry with tears as she panics, <I can’t!>

He thrusts her into the wall, pointing his dagger at her cheek. <You will kill me.> She shrieks when he drags the dagger across her skin, a warm liquid gushes down the side of her face. Her tears sting the wound. <Don’t make me use this across your neck!> His voice turns venomous as there’s a glow to his eyes. Is this where he’d suck the life out of her?

Cordelia winces when he holds her chin in place. He looks back at his son as if he’s taunting him. The cool trickle of her own blood dries against her throat, as he lines the dagger alongside the blood trail.

<Stop! STOP!> She claws at his back, but it doesn’t stop the man. His grin is unprecedented—he tortures by nature. He would revel in this—taunting her for a power she didn’t have. He was messing with her head! She didn’t trust his words—she can’t after what he had promised with his blade. She's never felt this scared.

The man freezes—his body’s suspended as his eyes grow wide with something Cordelia couldn’t recognize. Pride. She scrambles out of his grasp and stares at Radjerd; his arm suspended in air—The fierce glow that was all too familiar to her returned to Radjerd’s eyes. He was using his powers—how?! She gawks—watching as the man before her grasped at his throat to breathe. Fierce with anger, Cordelia grips her hands around the man’s neck, aiding Radjerd in the strangle.

< _Fuck you—fuck you—fuck you! >_ She says with gritted teeth, anger boils within her for the appearance he had maimed—for the torture he had put her through. She throws his head back into the wall, the impact leaving a trace of blood behind, before his lifeless body hit the ground. She gasps heavily when she looks at her hands, and the dead man beneath her.

She looks up at Radjerd; his eyes have returned to normal. He looks at her in astonishment; in his own disbelief at what happened. Now, she feels the throbbing, searing pain of her gashed cheek; her uneven hair furthering her upset. She falls to her knees, the metal hinge swings open as Radjerd cups her in his arms. She didn't care how he finagled the lock—she's relieved he's by her side. He tears a piece of fabric from her shirt and dabs it on her cheek. The blood soaks into the fabric, the remains splashing onto both of their clothes. <Hold this onto the cut, we won't be alone for long. We need to leave.>  
   
She wants to ask him about his abilities, but it didn’t feel right at the moment—not after what had happened. <I'm sorry—for what I did to him.>   
  
<Waste of skin.> Radjerd says coldly as he grabs her hand. <Let him rot in hell.>   
  
Guilt clouds Cordelia's head as she looks at the lifeless man. All the anger for him dissolved, guilt taking its place.   
  
He wouldn't be the only one rotting in hell after this...


	35. Chapter 35

Cordelia’s back presses against the clay wall by the dark-haired thief; she watches as Radjerd’s eyes are frantic as members of his father’s guild pass through—their scimitars ready to cleave the both of them in two if they’re caught. They were lucky to have made it out of the dungeons; Radjerd grabbed their stuff from the hook on the wall, his dagger (along with other belongings) were untouched. He had fastened the blade onto his belt, ready for combat. He made it clear to her that his aim is to protect her, no matter the cost. Cordelia will do her best to make sure she isn’t the reason he has to unsheathe it. She holds steady, keeping the cut on her cheek closed with the fabric Radjerd had given her. It had stopped bleeding, but she was careful not to make any strong facial movements—she doesn’t want to reopen the wound.

<I wish I could use it, but I don’t think I have it in me—this blade is the best we’ve got.> He doesn’t have to explain what he’s talking about; Cordelia knows he’s referring to his abilities. Radjerd had his powers back. By some form of a miracle—but at what cost? His father had implied that his powers were inherited—but Radjerd got them back before the man perished. Then what was stopping him—was he playing to the thief’s vulnerability? God...she couldn’t stomach the thought. Even if that was the reason; how dare the man exploit her the way he did—he made her ugly.

<Stay still—more of them are coming.> Radjerd whispers as readies his hand—was he going to fight? Was there a reason to? He steps in front of her, blocking the entrance to the alcove they’re hiding in. Her breathing becomes slower when more men funnel down the halls—one of them spotting the duo in the alcove.

<I think one’s coming straight for us.> Radjerd whispers coolly as he holds still—Cordelia can feel the air grow cold around her—was that her mind playing tricks on her, or was it fear—fear that they’ll be captured again... She holds her breath when she hears the echo of hurried footsteps—her heart slams against her ribcage. She winces; nothing. The footsteps pass them as quickly as they had come. Radjerd tugs on Cordelia’s hand when it’s safe to leave—hopefully, the manhunt the guards were on would keep the entrance to this underground palace unguarded. The likeliness of that was slim, but she could hope.  
  
<I know you said you’re tired but what if we run into a group of guards—is there a chance you can knock them out?>  
  
<That’s what I’m saving it for.> He gruffly whispers. <Hold my hand—I can’t risk losing you.>

Cordelia nods, a sinking feeling causes her stomach to churn. They couldn’t get caught, no matter what.  His grip tightens as they commit to leaving the alcove, pulling her behind him as the two rush down the hall and up a set of stairs—maybe there would be an exit. There’s a way out! He opens the door; his posture becomes rigid.

Three guards stare back at them.

<Deely, back up. I have this.> Radjerd arms his dagger as he approaches, using his mass to shield Cordelia as he steps back. <Let us escape and no one gets hurt.>

<Except our General—it’ll take weeks ‘efore he’s on his feet.> The guard laughs at Cordelia and Radjerd’s confused faces. <He can never die—as the ones with the Devil’s Curse should know. They are death incarnate.> Radjerd didn’t ask what the guard meant, he barrelled towards the guard, knocking him on his feet—or so she thought. The man swiftly picks himself up, striking his own dagger into Radjerd’s shoulder; the man letting out a grimace-inducing grunt. Cordelia gasps, she couldn’t stand there and do nothing! But she couldn’t risk getting captured either—she’d be a diversion—it could buy Radjerd more time. Even if it means that the wound in her cheek would be reopened—it was worth the risk.

Cordelia sees two of the man aiming straight for her—She swivels in the other direction, luring them from the room. Getting out alive was the most important thing right now. She charges down the hall, but she doesn’t make it very far as she’s scooped up by the man and thrown over his shoulder—the bastard uncaring to where he placed his hands. Intentional or not didn’t matter as Cordelia yelps in franticness. The second guard attempts to bind her wrists as the one carrying her tries to restrain her ankles. Cordelia howls in anger when she can’t move her limbs. The tightness of the guard’s grip restricts Cordelia’s breathing—dammit Radjerd, hurry! From the corner of her eye, she sees the thief coming for her, as he rips Cordelia out of the man’s grip, securing her against his chest. He hears Radjerd grunt, the blood from his shoulder gushes down his arm. It’s a nasty sight, but Cordelia withstands it—she’s thankful for his help--although it might not matter as she sees backup swarm the room. What if this wasn’t the exit?!

<Keep back and don’t move.> Radjerd warns. <This is my only shot at trying this—I don’t want to get you by mistake.>  
  
Cordelia can’t help but feel a sigh of relief as Radjerd braces himself, lifting his arm as haziness fills the men’s eyes. Cordelia feels woozy herself—strange—his powers hadn’t affected her before. Cordelia clamps her eyes shut as she covers her mouth—she doesn’t know if it’s working. A tug on her arm soon after shows he was successful; ten bodies lie around them. Radjerd takes Cordelia’s hand and makes it to the door.  
  
They’re outside.

 

Cordelia looks up at the night sky; taking a breath of relief but it doesn’t last for long. Radjerd pulls her from the exit, and near an alleyway nearby. Once there, he collapses to his knees, panting from exhaustion. Cordelia kneels down beside him, inspecting his arm.

  
Blood darkens the fabric of his sleeve—the cut visible by the moonlight above them. <Oh god, your arm!>

<It’s sore, but it’s fine. My head’s the problem—whatever this ability has turned to is messing with my mind.>  
  
<We can rest here a bit--you kill the guards or just knock them out?>  
  
<I don’t know...> Radjerd says crestfallen. <I didn’t have time to think; I just acted.>  
  
<If I didn’t dull my senses, you’d have caught me too.>  
  
<...I’m sorry.> It’s the first time he looks up at her face. His violet eyes soften as his hand delicately touches her cheek. <God, Deely...If the man weren’t already dead.>  
  
<Remember what the guards said—he’s death incarnate—that means he’s still alive, doesn’t it?>  
  
<I know what they said, but I refuse to believe it.> He says, winded again. <But look at you—your hair—your face. He desecrated you!>

<I’m okay.> Cordelia looks downcast as she speaks, minding not to touch her hair. She knows it’s hacked, some pieces cut behind her ears, and other parts as short as Radjerd’s. The thought makes her want to cry. The whole ordeal crushes her heart—he ruined her appearance. She was no longer the jewel of Wellspring—the beauty she once was. If Radjerd didn’t like her…who knows if she’d ever wed? Hair grows back, sure, but it’d take years.

<But your face—that gash will leave a scar.>

<I know that…> She frowns, blinking back tears.

<I’m glad he’s dead—that bastard deserved to die for what he did to you.> He growls. <I hope he burns one thousand times in hell.>

<I’m sorry…that I…> A knot in her throat forms again.<For what I did.>

<Don’t concern yourself about that, that man was asking for death when he roughed you up like that…he should have known what was coming to him…> She can hear Radjerd’s anger boil in her throat.

Cordelia frowns heavily. Did anyone deserve death? It all just felt so wrong. The man he was talking about is—or rather was—his father; they could have reconciled. Damn, why was she feeling guilty for the enemy? No. He deserved it...if he was even dead. If he brought her to see the King of St. Antilla, she’d have died—and Radjerd could never get back into the palace. Wellspring would have perished for sure. That was not the outcome she wanted. Why couldn’t the man have been kind, nice, helpful—he could have been happy. Radjerd could have had a solid relationship with the man. Cordelia wouldn’t have felt his warm, constricted throat in her trembling hands. She wouldn’t know what aiding in murder feels like—the regret that courses through her.  
  
<We need to find the others and leave as soon as possible.> Radjerd’s tone changes as he angles his head toward the main street. <The longer we stay here—I don’t even need to say it. We need to go.>  
  
Cordelia nods. <Hopefully they’re all right—you don’t think they got to the others, do you?>  
  
<Knowing my father—if I can even say that—they might have captured them too. We can hope that we were his only target.> Cordelia makes an unceremonious grunting sound. That’s all she needed to think about.  
  
<Are you good to go? You still look winded.>  
  
<I don’t have a choice—I won’t accept being the reason that we’re caught. It’s a thieves’ town, so who knows how much time we’ll have to find them.> Cordelia bristles at the mention. Right...  
  
<Last place I saw them was near the jeweller’s shop. I don’t remember seeing a tavern in passing.>  
  
<I do. Follow me,> Radjerd gestures, outstretching his hand. <No matter what, don’t let go.>  
  
  
<Everywhere’s damn well closed, it should be easy to find them.> Radjerd grunts, raking his free hand through his hair. <So why haven’t we?>  
  
<I don’t know...but you mentioned there’s one place we haven’t looked yet.> Cordelia gestures to the lit building eight blocks down the near-empty street. If they weren’t there, it’d be safe to go into panic mode. That seemed fair, according to Cordelia, but she never felt so relieved to have her hood over her head. She doesn’t know if she can take it off—not after the hack job that Radjerd’s father had done. With a drawn-out sigh, Cordelia prepares herself as she feels Radjerd linking his arm with hers. His presence helps her relax. <Consider hiding that stab wound before we enter.>  
<I have been.> He explains he’s draped the satchel over his shoulder. <Hurts like bloody hell, but it does the trick.>   
  
They enter the well-lit tavern; each seat filled with scruffy looking travellers—who don’t seem to pay any mind to them. Radjerd yanks her forward; Cordelia not understanding why until she sees the woman he’s pulling himself towards. The sea-blue eyes of Freydis meet Cordelia’s steel-blue ones—Freydis frowns immediately when noticing the new detail on Cordelia’s cheek.  
  
She pulls them aside to a corner. <My god...what happened to you sweetie?>  
  
<My father did...although he won’t be a problem anymore. I have my powers back—it’s all that matters now.> A flurry of emotions crosses through Freydis’s expression.  
  
<He’s dead I take it?> Her focus is still on Cordelia as she gently angles her chin to get a better look at the cut. Cordelia’s surprised she took the news so calmly. <For maiming this pretty girl’s face, I’d do the same thing—but the way you’re clenching that hood makes me nervous; what else did that man do?>  
  
<Where are the others? We need to skip town—now.>  
  
<Understood, I’ll wake them up.> Freydis heads up the narrow staircase. She assumes they’ll have time to go through the details once they’re on the road.  
  
Unless they’re caught.

 


	36. Chapter 36

Cordelia takes a deep breath when she sees both Fenli and Leander’s tired faces—they must have been asleep for quite some time to look so bedraggled. Wait, what time was it? Despite his lethargy, Leander’s raised brow doesn’t go unnoticed—he must notice the giant gash on her cheek. It’s scabbed over in the short time they’ve escaped, but she doesn’t like his curious stare; it made her feel like a freak show. It’s not like she could hide it forever—even she had to realize that. Damn it all. Fenli however bulrushes her, throwing her hands around the princess in the most un-ceremonious of ways.

“I thought you were a goner—truly—I did!” She freezes, recognizing she’s speaking Weltish—it mattered not to Cordelia. She could speak both.<God—what happened to your face?!>

<Please,> Cordelia uses her posh, princesslike tone. She hadn't had to use it in quite some time. Her eyes flitted to the side, hoping Fenli can’t notice the pain, or embarrassment of her predicament. Fenli’s eyes hold on to her fiercely—she didn’t want to let this topic go. Her slender shoulders slouch when Cordelia’s words sink in. <Okay, I won’t discuss it further.>

Freydis followed after the siblings, having a rushed air to her. But, it makes Cordelia feel secure—something she desperately needs right now. She felt safe—no—she will not rehash these thoughts now. She’s not strong enough to—god…she didn’t need more attention to her appearance.  
  
Fenli was small, but looked like a dwarf next to Freydis—how didn’t she notice this before? Maybe she did, but hadn’t considered their height difference until now. Did it even matter?

<What’s the plan—we can rush out of here now, or come up with something fruitful. I’m not a plan of figuring out things later.> Freydis narrows her sea-blue eyes. <Did you leave anyone alive?> She asks quietly to Radjerd.

<A couple.> Radjerd reflects. <Didn’t mean to, but that’s all I could manage. I’d like to leave now, get to Ma’s if I know we’re not being followed. If I have a hunch, we’ll lure them to the dunes—we can finish the stragglers off.>

<We can’t afford another mishap, Radjerd.> Freydis uses his full name; something Cordelia has never heard her say before. She’s serious. <Tell me what happened.>

<I can’t get into the details—if anyone overhears—>

<Fine. Let’s move then.> Freydis growls, but she’s not angry. Cordelia’s not entirely sure why she sounds mad, but she follows when everyone heads in the exit’s direction. Nerves abound when Cordelia realizes how tired her feet are. If she didn’t see how Radjerd injured his shoulder, she’d ask him if he would carry her.

  
<We’re far enough away from town—tell me exactly what happened.> Freydis orders Radjerd once they leave the gates of Oasis Bridge. Cordelia’s surprised (and suspicious) to see that they aren’t followed, but Radjerd warns that it didn’t mean much. His father’s men took pleasure in lurking from the shadows. Considering it’s nighttime, there’d be a lot of shadows for suspecting cronies to lurk. It makes her shiver.

Radjerd shoots a sympathetic glance in Cordelia’s direction—which Cordelia catches. She nods, holding her arms together as he explains to Freydis, <My father is...> She’s waiting for him to speak again—so is Cordelia. But there’s a hitch to his throat—one that makes Cordelia’s stomach sink. <He’s a general to the royal family. He wants to have Deely brought to justice—he thinks Cordelia had offed King Ryne herself.>  
  
<What?!> Freydis stops as her arms bulge with anger. It’s suspected, but she’s surprised to learn the real reason behind her agitation. <Your damn Pa is a fuckin’ General? Yeah right—stop telling lies.>

<He’s not lying.> Cordelia whips her hood off, leaving her bare head exposed for the world to see—this proved nothing of the man’s status as a General, but it showed them the extent of his torment. A soft breeze crawled up her neck, where the shortest of it had been, but some longer pieces tickle the sides of her collar. She hadn’t dared looked at her reflection—she didn’t want to. She places a finger to her chin, studying the scab on Cordelia’s cheek, her horrified sea-blue eyes seeing her chopped up mane.  
  
Fenli and Freydis both gasp in horror. Leander even winces. Cordelia holds back her tears. It’s hard to see everyone’s reactions to her appearance. She wants to disappear.  <I think he did this to get at his son.>

<Fuckin’ bastard. I know I’ve said this before, but I’d have killed him myself if I witnessed what he did to you. What an idiot—thinking you alone could take on a king. He was almost twice your size!> Freydis’s eyes almost have a feral look to them. Despite Cordelia bringing up the topic, she didn’t wish to discuss it any further. But, they needed an explanation. <Torturing defenceless women is unforgivable.>

<I think he did it to...give Radjerd his powers back.> Cordelia says with a hollowness to her tone. <Fuel his anger...I think.> It’s a sudden conclusion, but why else would the man do it? God, Cordelia didn’t know his motives—maybe he liked to torture royalty.

<He’s dead.> Radjerd says to justify his actions. <Maybe that’s how it happened—how I got my powers back, I mean.> There’s an uncertainty to Radjerd’s words—one guard mentioned that Radjerd’s father was death incarnate—she still didn’t know what that meant. Those words couldn’t hold much weight—it was probably to spur unease.  
  
Well, it worked.

<Bastard deserved it if that’s what he did to Cordelia.> Freydis hisses in anger. <You did a good thing.>

Guilt flashes across Radjerd’s expression, but only for _a moment._ Cordelia braces herself with a shudder. Even for what that monster did to her—he was still Radjerd’s father. No, stop that. She should have no room in her heart for compassion—the bastard deserved what was coming to him.  
  
Radjerd then flinches. He drops his satchel, revealing the stain of blood on the fabric of his shoulder. The blood around his stab wound was spreading.

<Seems you didn’t make it out unscathed either.> Freydis is close to biting her nails. <We should get that looked at.>

<I’m fine, and we no time. We need to keep moving, make it to Ma’s.>  
Leander clears his throat upon hearing this. <No, this is unacceptable. Let me have a look.> Radjerd groans when the teen stops him, instructing him to take off his shirt.

<I told Freydis, and I’ll tell you; Now isn’t the time to—>

<And what are you going to do if your shoulder rots off your bone? Yeah, that’s what I thought.> With a tilted grin, Leander inspects further. Radjerd looks over in Cordelia’s direction as he holds a winced expression. What was she supposed to do about it? 

<Just let him do it, and all of this will be over.> Fenli laughs a little. <He’s no healer, but he’s the best we’ve got.> This was news to Cordelia, but she’s not surprised. Leander dabbled his fingers in everything. Radjerd concedes, allowing Leander to do with him as he saw fit. Cordelia could see that the pain was getting to him, and Leander’s knowledge might help him ease the pain. He doesn’t need much to look at it; Radjerd hisses as the last bit of moonlight highlights the wound. Leander inspects it with the upmost precision, carefully training his fingers where it’s scabbed.  
  
Leander hmms and hah’s, as he concludes, <It’s not lethal but when we can, I want to see if we can get some mugwort—It’s plentiful back in Wellspring, but not in these parts I’m guessing.> Leander frowns as he pours some water from his flask, cleaning the wound tenderly. Radjerd hisses, his patience visibly dissolving.

<Can we hurry it up? I’m not interested in hanging around when we could be hunted. My father’s men will be relentless, considering what I’ve done.>

<And you’ll be of no help if your arm gets infected, think of that?> Leander snaps back. Cordelia suspects that his fingers are lingering on Radjerd’s arm out of interest and not of necessity. Could she really blame him? They were nice to the touch—god—what a horrible thought to have at a time like this!

<Princess…?> Fenli clears her throat, grabbing her attention. <There’s something I wanted to discuss with you.>

<What is it?> Cordelia nods as Fenli lightly touches her arm.

<While you were gone, I couldn’t help but think of what Leander has said—about St. Antilla, and their true intentions with Wellspring. It seems he wasn't far off, especially if you faced one of their Generals. Aren't you worried?>

<Yes.> She says cordially. <He said he could...> ...see the future. But how would she _e_ xplain that to Fenli?  A shudder crawls up her back as she stares at the smaller woman. <Nevermind that. Just know, I don’t plan on letting St. Antilla fall into the wrong hands. Radjerd's fit to help us take back the palace.>

<If we make it back. Radjerd killed a General—the crown will be after his head now too. What...if he gets killed?> Fenli lowers her voice to a whisper. I can’t help but wonder what will happen when the King learns that you were an accomplice in one of his Generals' murders.>

Cordelia's stomach drops. If the current king needed any more of a reason to instate a war.

<It was him killing you, or Radjerd killing him, I understand that. Even if it wasn’t by your hand, Radjerd was acting on your behalf. That won’t be ignored.>

< _I KNOW! > _Cordelia snaps, the pressure building in her voice. <I know that! God!> She covers her hands over her face as an attempt to block out Fenli's words.

<I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you—> Fenli raises her hand, but stops midway. Everyone’s eyes are on Cordelia; she can’t control the water escaping between the creases of her eyelids. She bites her lip as it trembles. With a firm hand, she excuses herself from the group and makes it to a nearby palm tree—thankfully there was something to lean against. The cool bark welcomed her overheated, exhausted frame.  
  
The fear she accumulated back there—it's bubbling to the surface in her choked sobs. The anxiety drowns her.

As predicted, she isn’t alone for long—she need not turn around to know Radjerd’s behind her. He says nothing as he wraps her in a comforting hug. She's not sure if she wants it. Cordelia's spent.

<Once we get to Ma's, you'll get a proper rest. She’ll even these bits out for you…> He says, politely brushing the uneven parts of her hair. <We'll tell her what happened—she'll help us.>  
  
<How do you reckon she can?> Cordelia says with a snobbish air to her. She can't help it—she's done trying to fake her emotions. <Can she make the King of St. Antilla disappear?>  
  
<No, but she can provide a home for us to stay—even if it's for a short rest. Here, rest on my good arm. It might help.>  
  
Cordelia doesn't argue as she reaches for his arm—his good one, as he instructs—but she pats it instead. <I'd prefer to walk without help.> She breaks away from him, heading back to the group.  
  
They continue on once more,  Freydis and Radjerd held the rear, watching for any possible sneak attacks. Fenli and Leander took the lead. There was a flighty conversation between Fenli and Freydis, despite the space between each other (Freydis reminiscing about her and Fenli’s performing days at Shastican’s Delight, and how they were used to the lack of sleep) but Cordelia’s feet were throbbing, while the rest of her body felt numb. Her thoughts, still on what had happened to her before—Radjerd Sr’s hands on her face as he cut into her—she shudders visibly. Leander is the first to notice her discomfort. The moonlight must have been bright on the desert path, because she can see every crease in his brow as he thoughtfully examines her.

However, she’s thankful when the teen stays quiet.

She didn’t want to cry again.


End file.
